The Mentalist: What Lisbon Wants
by Donnamour1969
Summary: Collaboration with waterbaby134. Jane is a fake psychic who occasionally consults for the CBI, but a case goes wrong and Jane awakens to find he really CAN read minds, particularly that of a certain beautiful CBI agent. Will his new "gift" help him become worthy of Lisbon's love? Inspired by the movie "What Women Want." AU/Romance/Humor/Fantasy. Rated T/M for language/adult content
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hi, Donnamour1969 here! Welcome to the newest collaboration between myself and my long-time friend and occasional writing partner, waterbaby134. This fic is very loosely inspired by the Mel Gibson movie, "What Women Want" (If you haven't seen the movie, it's not necessary that you do so to get into this fic). We took the basic premise and twisted it into an AU Mentalist story, filled with humor, romance and a touch of fantasy. In this fic, you will find a Jane who is very much his fugue state personality from the "Fugue in Red" episode, but of course, it will take the love and understanding of a good woman to turn him around. In this story, there is no Red John, no murdered wife or child, so in that way too, he is the Jane from "Fugue in Red." I'm up first, then waterbaby, as we take turns, chapter by chapter. Enjoy!

 **What Lisbon Wants**

 **Chapter 1**

Patrick Jane awoke to the smell of coffee and the scent of warm woman. He was not pleased about either, and he rolled over in bed with a groan. His head was pounding, the bed was spinning a little, and his mouth tasted like old wool. The naked woman beside him didn't stir, not even when a second woman wearing his syrup-spattered Dolce and Gabbana dress shirt walked into his bedroom with a tray of coffee, pancakes, bacon, and an irritating "Good morning!"

It all came rushing back to him—well, most of it—and Jane lay back on his pillow, closing his eyes while the world spun on.

"I hate coffee," he muttered.

To his continued horror, Woman Number Two sat with a cheerful bounce on the bed and set the legs of the breakfast try on either side of his slim waist.

"Don't be such a grumpy pants," she baby-talked. "I made you a good breakfast. After last night, lover, you definitely deserve it."

Jane opened one eye. "Listen, uh—"

"Lorelei," she supplied, offended.

"Whatever—you and, uh—" he gestured lamely to his bed partner.

"Erica!" Jane flinched at her shrill pronouncement, and even the woman beside him finally stirred. _Good,_ he thought. _Glad she isn't dead._

"Yeah, right. I thought I told you girls last night I don't do sleepovers. And I definitely don't do pancakes." He grimaced. He would kill for a cup of tea right then, starting with these damn feminine squatters.

"But Patrick, I made these myself. From scratch."

"Congratulations."

On the bedside table, Jane's cell phone vibrated, rattling much too loudly against the lacquered wood.

He reached blindly for it, squinted at the text. It was from Teresa Lisbon.

 _Minelli requests the honor of your presence._

He smirked. Amazing how much sarcasm that woman could infuse into a simple text.

Jane sat up, pausing as a wave of nausea swept over him. He slowly thumbed out a reply.

 _Should I prepare to kiss his ring?_

He'd set her up with the perfect opportunity for a racy comeback. Would she take it? He was surprised by how much he longed for her to. He watched as her cursor moved several spaces—more than enough to supply the obvious response. She paused, then backtracked, her final message much shorter than her initial instincts had led her.

 _Yes._

Forgetting his company, he chuckled out loud. "Someday, baby, you'll finally tell me what you really think." He was only slightly disappointed that it wouldn't be today.

He picked up the tray and absently moved it aside so he could get up, noticing dispassionately that Lorelei was still miffed with him.

"I have a client waiting. I need to take a shower. By the time I get out, I want both of you gone."

"But Patrick," she began again, but he ignored her. Erica sat up then, the sheet falling away from her bare breasts. He was no longer impressed.

 _Been there, done that,_ he thought uncharitably.

He got out of bed and padded, casually naked, across the hardwood floor toward the en suite bathroom.

"You call all your clients _baby_?" said Lorelei sarcastically. He didn't take the bait; somehow sarcasm on Lorelei wasn't nearly as appealing as it was on Teresa Lisbon.

"What's going on?" asked the groggy woman, sweeping long, dark bangs from her eyes.

But Jane had left the irate woman to explain his wishes to Erica and shut the door behind him. A thought occurred, and he peaked out again.

"Be sure to leave the Dolce," he ordered, nodding toward his stained shirt.

The moment he shut the door again, he heard a loud _thump_. A teacup, from the sound of it. He hoped absently it wasn't his mother's old Fiestaware. After that parting shot, he locked the door to the bathroom on the off chance his guests decided either to attempt murder, or more likely a fourth round in the shower. He'd spare them all the embarrassment.

"Bastard!" Lorelei called after him. He was sure she said more, but the rest of it was mercifully drowned out by the gentle spray of his custom installed rain shower.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

An hour later, Jane arrived at the Sacramento branch of the California Bureau of Investigation. He was impeccably dressed and coiffed: blue three-piece suit including gray silk tie, his cheeks closely shaven, his wild curls tamed and swept back from his forehead. He was hoping his usual flash would hide his bloodshot eyes.

With his Consultant badge he was able to pass easily through Security, smiling broadly at the woman attendant despite how it made him grimace in pain afterward. Since he still managed to[DR1] elicit a blush from her, he felt it was worth it, a reassuring indication that he could still impress, even while hung over.

"Have a good day, sir," she said breathlessly.

"You too, Merilee." He grinned again.

The poor girl nearly swooned behind him. The other officer, a man, merely rolled his eyes.

Jane stepped off the elevator to be met by junior Agent Wayne Rigsby of the Serious Crimes Unit, who reminded Jane of an overgrown puppy.

"The boss is waiting for you," he said, tagging along after Jane as they moved toward Lisbon's office.

"Pint-sized Boss, or Big Boss?"

"Pint-sized." Rigbsy barked out an embarrassed laugh. "I mean, Lisbon. They're both in Minelli's office."

Jane bypassed Lisbon's empty, glass-walled space and headed for the Special Agent in Charge. The door was slightly ajar, and Minelli waved him in from behind his big desk.

"See ya," Rigsby said, anxious to get back to the other commoners in the bullpen.

Teresa Lisbon sat in one of two uncomfortable chairs before the Big Boss's desk, slack-clad legs pressed demurely together, matching black blazer mercifully unbuttoned over her one concession to fashion—a silk shell of scarlet red. Therein lay the proof to Jane of the woman's true passionate nature. If only she would allow herself to express it.

He grinned at her, slowly and wickedly, but the woman was annoyingly immune. Or just seemed to be, he told himself. His smile widened at the thought.

"I hear you are awaiting me with barely contained excitement," he commented wryly, watching a frown bring her dark eyebrows together. But when her lovely eyes met his, she noticed instantly the one chink in his otherwise perfect armor he had hoped to hide. She smirked.

"Rough night?"

His smile didn't falter. "You should see the other guy," he quipped. "I mean, _guys_."

She took his meaning and her eyes flashed in disapproval. A brief image of all the alcohol he'd consumed along with the sensual positions he'd been in mere hours before, and Jane actually felt his face grow warm. He cleared his throat and turned to Minelli, reaching over his desk to shake the man's hand, momentarily discombobulated at his own discombobulation. Like a balding Yoda, Minelli's sparkling blue eyes missed nothing, and he gestured for Jane to take a seat.

"Thanks for coming in, Patrick. We have a case that's stymied us, and thought maybe your particular expertise would help us get past the brick wall we've hit."

"My pleasure," said Jane. He unbuttoned his suit coat and sat, crossing his legs and pulling down his vest al a Jean-Luc Picard. He risked a sideways glance at Lisbon, and couldn't miss the stubborn line of her lightly glossed lips. She didn't approve of him personally or professionally, even though he'd helped them solve about five cases over the last six months. Clearly she didn't believe in psychics or ménage a trois, evidenced by the plain gold cross that suspended from her delicate neck.

"What's the case," he asked, forcing himself to focus on Minelli.

"Wouldn't a psychic already know what the case is about?" Lisbon asked.

"Lisbon," Minelli admonished.

"Sorry," she said, remembering herself. She blushed in embarrassment that Jane had goaded her into unprofessionalism, but Jane was struck by how the rosy tinge of her cheeks was enhanced by her blouse. Add a little perspiration at her brow, and he had no doubt this would be how she'd look post-orgasm. He shifted in his seat.

"I can't always control when the gift of insight comes."

But what did come easily was his usual bullshit explanation, disguising the fact that he really wasn't a psychic. He was just a self-taught expert in human behavior, as well as a damn good guesser. But no one hired a good guesser without a college degree or a private investigator's license, especially not rich housewives who wondered if their dead mothers approved of how they redecorated the kitchen.

"Of course you can't," Minelli was saying. He slid a CBI folder across his desk and Jane moved to retrieve it, settling back in his chair to peruse the information inside. He was greeted by the smiling face of a beautiful little girl, her eyes wide and pale green, her hair long and curly, like a little blonde mermaid, or perhaps a fairy princess.

"This is Charlotte Kincaid," said Minelli. "She's been missing for a week. Her father is the online toy store magnate, and we're certain it's only a matter of time until we get a ransom demand. But—"

"No," said Jane, abruptly closing the folder and tossing it back on Minelli's desk. "I don't do cases involving children."

"What?" said Lisbon. "Why not?"

"I don't like them."

"What kind of person doesn't like children, for God's sake?"

"Lisbon—" began Minelli.

"I'm sorry, Boss, but you gotta be kidding me. She's not just a child, Mr. Jane, she's a vulnerable human being, possibly being victimized by an unknown assailant. She's terrified and misses her parents—both of whom are scared out of their minds themselves. As much as I hate to admit it, you _do_ have a gift. Not a psychic one of course, but you can figure things out and find people faster than I've seen anyone else in the CBI ever do, even, I admit, my own team. I can't believe you would sit by and let all these people suffer just because you have an aversion to children. I have an aversion to psychics, but look at me, I'm putting that aside in the interest of this defenseless little girl. I'm willing to swallow my skepticism and do anything to find—"

"It's been a week?" Jane interrupted. "You both know she's probably dead anyway. Here, give me something of hers and I'll give you a quick reading."

Minelli knew by now how Jane worked, and took a small Teddy bear from his desk drawer. He handed it to Jane, who carefully removed the well-loved toy from the zip top evidence bag.

Jane closed his eyes and thought of nothing for exactly sixty seconds. He opened his eyes as if he'd been in a deep trance—not too difficult given his hangover-and he'd certainly appreciated the brief respite from Lisbon's haranguing.

"I'm sorry, Virgil, but I'm afraid I get no reading at all from this."

Lisbon scoffed audibly in disgust.

"So that means…." Minelli prompted.

"She's either dead or the spirits are blocking me from sensing anything."

Jane returned the bear to its plastic home _, like a little toy body bag_ , he mused darkly. Jane rose and deposited the toy back on Minelli's desk.

"I hope you find the little girl, truly I do, but I honestly don't think I'll be of much use to you this time. Please call me again when you get another case Lisbon—I mean, _the team_ —can't handle. So if you'll excuse me, I have a reading at eleven o'clock in El Dorado Hills…"

"You sure, Patrick?" Minelli asked, his wise eyes boring into his. Jane had great respect for the lead agent, and his expression made him feel a bit like his father was disappointment in him, a rare feeling for Jane. His real father was only disappointed in him when he'd done something _right_. It was very confusing, but Jane was used to ignoring his conscience, and only felt the overwhelming need to get out of there and on with his day. Maybe he'd even have time to stop at a nearby bar for the hair of the dog; his head was pounding like hell.

"I'm sure, Virgil. Sorry, again." He glanced fleetingly at Lisbon. "Agent Lisbon," he said with only a slightly mocking tone.

The relief as he left Minelli's office was incredible, like he'd dodged a very big, complicated bullet. Then he heard the soft click of Lisbon's heeled boots behind her and his stomach dropped.

"Mr. Jane?" she called softly after him. Naturally, he ignored her.

"Mr. Jane!" she repeated more emphatically, when he didn't turn around. People in the office were beginning to stare at the diminutive boss nearly running after the handsome consultant, but he only stopped abruptly when he'd reached the elevator landing.

"May I help you, Agent Lisbon?" His voice was clipped now with irritation. He'd had enough of people pricking at his conscience for one day.

"You damn well can," she said angrily. "That little trick with the Teddy bear was low, even for you. What's it really going to hurt for you to take a moment, look at the evidence, and give us your best guess of where to look for that girl? You won't even have to deal with the child if you don't want to."

He took a deep breath and turned to face her, unprepared for the pleading in her green eyes. He schooled his expression though.

"No."

"Well why the hell not? And don't give me that crap about the spirits or hating kids."

"It's not a lie. I hate kids. They're dirty, loud, rude, and demanding. Look, there's no deep, dark secret here. I wasn't bullied. I didn't lose a child. I don't have some deep-seated resentment of them. I simply don't like them."

She eyed him for a moment, her shrewd gaze sizing him up like a perp in her interrogation room. "You're full of shit," she concluded.

He shrugged. "You're free to believe what you want, Teresa, but I'm taking a pass on this one. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

He reached out and touched the down button for the elevator. She stood there, stewing in her anger while he unsuccessfully attempted to ignore her.

"Is there anything I can possibly do to change your mind?" she asked finally, just as the elevator dinged its arrival. It was oh so tempting to make an indecent proposal after that loaded question, but she wasn't finished with her own offer. "I could ask Minelli if it's in the budget to pay you a bit more—"

He laughed, and reached out to hold the door. "Come on. You don't really think I've offered my time here for the money, do you?"

"Then why?"

"It's the cachet, Agent Lisbon. You know how many clients— _wealthy_ clients—I've garnered since I appeared on the nightly news after I solved the Hendrick case? The fact that you guys at the CBI take me seriously adds a certain gravitas to my business that goes even beyond my weekly segment on the local talk shows."

"Ah, so you're in it for the money, just not the _CBI's_ money."

He grinned. "Exactly."

"Your mother must be so proud."

"I'm sure she's smiling down from Heaven as we speak."

Lisbon's face fell. "Oh, I'm sorry, Jane, I didn't realize…"

But the open elevator door buzzed in protest, and Jane walked inside. "See ya around, Agent Lisbon."

When she joined him inside just before the door slid shut, he was pleasantly surprised that she wouldn't take no for an answer either. It stirred his blood.

"Is there nothing else I can do to get you to take this case?"

He looked into her eyes at this, found himself taking a step forward. Maybe there was something after all. Her eyes widened at the sudden determination she saw in his face, and she took her own step back.

"Go out with me," he whispered.

"What?"

He could actually hear her breathing quicken in the small space.

"You heard me. If I find this girl, you'll agree to go out with me on a date. Someplace where you could maybe get rid of the pantsuit and wear a nice dress. Something with cleavage." His eyes dropped to her breasts, which were rising and falling at an abnormal clip. Jane felt suddenly very warm but he resisted the urge to loosen his collar.

He knew immediately he'd gone too far, and before his eyes met hers again, he saw her right hand form a serious fist.

"You're a pig," she said. Points off for lack of originality in the insult department, he thought in amusement.

"Now, Teresa, wasn't it you who said not ten minutes ago that you'd do _anything_ to find this girl? A date with a handsome man shouldn't be that much to endure, if it reunites the little angel with Mommy and Daddy."

He had her there and they both knew it.

"I never said I'd be willing to compromise my morals or principles, however."

"Morals? Principles? It's just dinner, sweetheart. Maybe the theatre. Why, was there something more on the table you were offering?"

She flushed pink, and it was even more becoming than what he'd witnessed in Minelli's office.

"Just dinner," she stammered. "And I'm certainly not sleeping with you, and that's definitely not on the table."

"How about on a bed, Teresa? Not sure my back could take the table anyway."

"I hate you," she declared passionately.

" _Despise_ maybe. _Revile_ even. But _hate_ me?" He lightly touched her cross. "I think not."

They'd reached the first floor, and the elevator door slid open. A pair of Sacramento police officers moved aside to let them exit, but Jane pressed the third floor button again and stayed inside.

"We forgot something upstairs," explained Jane. He stood aside for the officers to enter beside them. It was very crowded with their new friends, and Lisbon was forced to stand in front of Jane. He inhaled the warm scent of coconut and vanilla that wafted up from her hair, and he purposefully moved closer.

"I didn't say yes," Lisbon muttered.

"Well I'm saying it for both of us," he replied near her ear. He saw her tremble as his breath stirred her chestnut hair. "But before I go against my own principles, I need to get a look at that file. Time's a-wasting for that poor girl."

"Pig," she said again, with even more venom than before.

One of the cops gave her a dirty look.

"Not-not you guys," she stammered, obviously mortified.

Jane grinned like the devil he was.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Jane and Lisbon arrived back at Minelli's office, he was on the phone. With a raised eyebrow, he waved them both in.

"Set it up, Cho," he was saying to his agent in the field. "Keep me updated."

He hung up his desk phone and turned to Lisbon and Jane. "Cho says there's been a ransom demand. He and Van Pelt have been with the Kincaid family in case this happens," he explained to Jane. "Turns out we might not need your services after all. Nice to see my best agent was able to get you to reconsider though."

"She can be very persuasive," Jane said with not a hint at their agreement in the elevator. But he wasn't quite ready to give up on their deal yet, despite the ransom demand. The more he thought of seeing the staid Agent Lisbon in a clinging dress and heels, the more he wanted to be of some assistance on this case. "Good news about the ransom. But now I'm curious to see how this all turns out. Mind if I hang around until we get the sweet little urchin back?"

Lisbon frowned, no doubt the relief she felt at her narrow escape turning to dread once more.

"Not at all. We might still find something else for you to do, especially in the unlikely event that the kidnapper manages to get away."

"Great," said Jane and Lisbon together, but with comically different inflections.

"You two are so cute," commented Minelli in dry amusement. "Now, head over to the Kincaid home and do what needs to be done. I'll put SWAT on standby in case we need them for the ransom drop."

"Yes, sir," said Lisbon miserably. Jane held the door open for her and she marched past him angrily.

"I'll get my keys from my office," she said, and meet you downstairs. She didn't fancy another elevator ride with him, apparently, he thought with a grin.

"Okay. As long as you don't ditch me and slip down the stairs to the parking garage."

"I would never even think of doing such a thing," she lied. _Foiled again, sweetheart._

"Right."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The ransom drop was to revolve around a white utility van at the southeast edge of a mall parking lot. The kidnapper, his voice disguised, had used a burner phone to set up the drop, with the usual caveat that there be no police around or Charlotte would die. Charlotte would be waiting inside the van, he said, and the kidnapper would open the door remotely once the million dollars was placed beside the van by Charlotte's father—he was adamant that it be him alone.

Naturally there _would_ be police, in the form of well-hidden CBI agents, most of whom would be waiting in nearby cars. A driver would pretend to park and enter the mall, leaving another agent or two hiding in the backseat. Jane would stay with Lisbon, while Agent Grace Van Pelt left the minivan and walked casually toward the mall's main entrance. She would also be watching from inside the mall's glass doors. Agents Kimball Cho and Rigsby would tag team it in their own company SUV, Mr. Kincaid in the driver's seat.

When the CBI's vehicles arrived one at a time and parked in different locations, the white, windowless van was already in place. There was no one in the driver's seat of the vehicle, and while there was no proof anyone at all was in back either, they had to assume that Charlotte was in there, possibly with a gun trained on her should the police attempt to storm the van or Mr. Kincaid fail to bring the ransom.

In the back of the minivan parked about 300 yards from the target utility van, Jane and Lisbon waited. The windows were tinted as dark as the law allowed, and from this vantage point, Lisbon was able to use her binoculars to closely survey the van as well as the perimeter.

"I still see no reason why _you_ had to be here," she complained as she scanned the area.

"Daddy said I could," Jane said with a grin. "Besides, if Charlotte isn't really in that van, as I suspect she is not, you'll still need me to find her. And that means our deal is still on."

"Why don't you think she's in there?"

"Too many things could go wrong for the kidnappers, for one thing. For example, once the money's been dropped and Charlotte is supposedly released, what's to stop the police from just hanging out to wait until the kidnapper shows up to collect the dough? It makes no sense."

"Some criminals are actually very stupid, Jane, which is often why we're able to catch them."

"True, but some criminals are very clever, which is often why they get away with it."

Lisbon lowered her binoculars to look at him with her usual annoyance.

"This was the hand we were dealt, Jane, so we're going to play along as long as we can in order to protect the life of that little girl. And remember, we're pretty clever ourselves. We've thought of every contingency." Snipers were on the roof of the mall, and Kincaid would wear a bullet-proof vest.

Jane looked skeptical, but he didn't comment—at least on that topic.

"So, any idea where you'd like to go for our dinner?"

"McDonald's drive-through," she said without missing a beat.

He chuckled. "And let a bunch of pimple-faced teenagers ogle your low cut dress from the drive-through window? I don't think so. Tell me your favorite type of food, and I'll pick the restaurant."

"Italian-German fusion."

He couldn't help smiling at her stubbornness. "Boy, will you be sorry if I find such a place. Wiener Schnitzel Carbonara? Gastronomical warfare. Besides, you remember how well that particular union worked out in World War II. Might I suggest something from only _one_ of the Axis powers?"

Lisbon pretended to ignore him, and then, glancing at the time on her cell phone, she picked up her Walkie-Talkie.

"Send in Kincaid with the money," she said to Cho.

"Copy that."

Lisbon had set down the binoculars, and Jane picked them up out of boredom. He focused first on the white van, then on the various shoppers heading into the mall. Kincaid with his briefcase full of money, appeared came into view, and Jane saw the man was trembling, his back ramrod straight with tension. When he was almost to the van, a glint of metal from across the street caught his attention. He trained the binoculars on it, focused, and saw that a man was leaning against his car and had taken out his cell phone. He was watching the scene around the van intently, his finger poised over a button.

"We've gotta stop him," said Jane.

"What?" said Lisbon. "Who?"

"There's no time!" he said as he slid back the door of the van. Without thinking of himself for the first time in years, Jane began to run toward Kincaid.

"Jane! Stop!" Lisbon pressed the button on the Walkie as she followed after him. "Stand down! Stand down!" she yelled into the speaker at the snipers. "The crazy bastard is a friendly!"

"Kincaid! Get away from the van!" called Jane. By then, however, Kincaid was nearly at the drop off. He turned sharply around toward Jane, just as the whole world seemed to explode.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane awoke in a hospital bed, his head throbbing from where the blast had thrown him to the hard pavement of the parking lot. He opened his eyes, his vision a bit blurry at first, before he focused on the nurse that was checking his vitals.

 _Dammit, I was just about to get off work when this guy comes in. Stay until he wakes up, they tell me. If I miss fuckin' Grey's Anatomy again, heads are gonna roll…_

"Sorry to hold you up," said Jane softly. "McDreamy fan?"

The nurse looked at him, startled. "What?"

"From what I hear, McSteamy isn't bad either."

 _Is this guy psychic or something? What the hell?_

"Yes, as a matter of fact I am a psychic. How'd you know? Did Lisbon tell you?"

 _Jesus!_ _Who is this guy?_ "Uh, I'll tell the doctor you're awake." And she made a hasty retreat.

Jane's eyes drifted shut again and he remembered suddenly why he was there. The van exploded. Did Kincaid survive? Had the girl been in the van? He moved to get out of bed.

"Not so fast," said the beautiful young doctor as she rushed to his bedside to push him gently back down on the pillow. "You're in no condition to be getting up right now."

 _Not another one. This hospital can't afford to be sued again if another patient slips and falls on his way to the bathroom._

"Don't worry," said Jane, "I don't want to fall either."

The doctor knitted her brows in confusion. _Did I say that out loud? Must be hour twenty of my twenty-four-hour shift._ She shook her head to clear it.

"Well, Mr. Jane," she said, after shining a bright pen light into his eyes and instructing him to follow her finger. "You've got a mild concussion and a fairly big lump on the back of your head. Vision seems fine, and you're going to have quite a headache for a few days, but if you take it easy you'll be up and at 'em in no time."

 _I wouldn't mind if he was up and at_ _ **me**_ _,_ she thought. _Yum. Good God, a girl could drown in those eyes. And that hair—wish my hair would curl like that…_

Jane looked up at the lovely doctor with sudden interest. "Thanks, Doc, but it's not so fun in the humidity," he said.

She took a step back, her body going still. "What isn't?"

He grinned. "My hair, of course. Other things can be extremely fun on a sultry day, however," he added suggestively. "Leave me your number and when I'm up to it…"

She blushed furiously. "Uh, Mr. Jane, I'll _leave_ you with a prescription for mild pain killers and anti-nausea pills. Come back to my office in a week for a follow up, or right back to the ER if you have uncontrollable dizziness, vision or hearing loss, or an unbearable headache. I'll send the nurse back in with an appointment card, but I'd like you to stay overnight for observation."

"Is that really necessary?"

 _If it wasn't necessary, I wouldn't have ordered it. Men._

"Yes, I'm afraid it is, just to be safe."

 _And don't even think about skipping out of here against doctor's orders._

"Don't worry, Doc, I'm happy to follow any orders you give me. I'd never think about skipping out on you."

"Uh, good," she said lamely.

She turned and left as quickly as the nurse had, but not before he heard her final thoughts:

 _Shit! I definitely need to take those vacation days I've been saving..._

Jane, a little more awake now, stared after the doctor. Now that he thought of it, both the nurse and the doctor were acting very strangely around him, not to mention how they were saying things out loud that normally people kept to themselves in a professional atmosphere. He was certainly used to getting hit on everywhere, as well as engaging in his own flirtations, but something seemed off somehow. Was there something they weren't telling him? Had his head injury caused him to hallucinate?

Just then, Lisbon walked in, looking flatteringly concerned. He met her eyes, but before she opened her mouth, it was as if all her thoughts came pouring into his brain, fast and disjointed as thoughts often are:

 _Oh, thank God! I was so worried. What a jackass! If he'd ended up dead it would have served him right. How can his still look so damn beautiful even in that silly hospital gown?_

"How are you feeling?" she asked aloud.

He stared at her a moment, trying to process the difference between what he thought he'd heard coming from her head and what had actually come out of her mouth.

"Fine," he managed. "Head aches, but fine. I'd really like to get out of here. Any way you could talk the doctor out of keeping me overnight?"

 _What are you, an idiot? You'll do what the doctor says._

Oddly, she said the exact same thing out loud, and he heard it in his mind and in his ears at the same time, in stereo.

Jane narrowed his eyes in thought. He must really be out of it.

"The little girl?" he managed to ask.

"No bodies were found in the van. Kincaid didn't make it though; he was too close to the blast. We were totally taken off guard. I didn't even think this was a possibility. I mean, who blows up a million dollars? Obviously, the real target was Kincaid himself, and that means Charlotte is still out there." She was extremely frustrated and angry with herself, and her thoughts reflected it.

 _It's all my fault. Kincaid's death, Jane's injuries. Jesus, what a complete and utter dupe I was._

"It's not your fault, Teresa," he said gently.

She looked taken aback, as if he'd actually read her mind, and it was then that Jane realized that he no longer had to fake being a psychic.

He _was_ one.

 **A/N: Hope you liked the little homage to another great episode, "Bloodshot." Waterbaby is up next! Thanks for reading.**

* * *

[DR1]


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hi everyone. It's been a while since I've written fanfiction, but I can never pass up a chance to write with my good friend Donnamour1969. Thanks so much for your awesome response to chapter 1, it's always a relief to know we're creating something you enjoy. I hope the goodwill will carry into this second chapter, written by me.

 **Chapter 2**

Of all the scenarios he'd envisioned when he'd clawed his way back to consciousness this morning, this certainly wasn't one of them. There was no such thing as psychics; he knew this to be true, even though he'd made a nice career for himself out of pretending that there was. Luckily, there were plenty of suckers out there who believed in psychics, and luckier still, those suckers had deep pockets. But at the end of the day, he was a fraud. A well-dressed, well-spoken, highly convincing fraud (naturally, the best ones always were,) but a fraud nonetheless. Fake as a three-dollar bill.

And yet here he was. First the nurse, then the doctor, then Lisbon; he'd responded to their thoughts, not their words. Once was a freak of chance, twice could be a coincidence, but _three_ times? Something was definitely up.

Perhaps this was just some crazy dream, but it felt real. Sure, he'd dreamt of Teresa Lisbon a time or two, but she'd never been wearing this many clothes before. And she'd been a lot louder. He chuckled to himself; taking advantage of her temporary detachment to take a good, long look at her. Oh, the things he would do to her if he had the chance. He might even keep her around for a week or two, after he'd had her, if he could just get through that frosty demeanour to the red-blooded woman below, she might even be good for a round two, or even three.

She always played up that he disgusted her, but he knew that to be an act. No woman could resist him forever, and she was no exception. Well, just let her try and hide from him now. He had the ultimate secret weapon. He felt his lips curl into the smirk that lured many a woman to his bed and had separated many a foolish client from their hard-earned cash. Oh, this was going to be so much fun.

 _It is my fault, but's it nice of him to say it's not. Wait, did I just call him nice? He's the furthest thing from nice. Jeez Teresa, do you not remember the time he spilled water on your white blouse on purpose? Should have decked him one for that._

He remembered that time with great vividness, along with his marked disappointment at the discovery she'd been wearing a white tank top underneath.

 _Jerk. I still can't believe he did that! I'm glad he got blown up! No I'm not, nobody deserves that, not even Jane. And especially not Mr Kincaid. It's all my fault. It's all my fault, if only I hadn't been so stupid. If only I'd listened to Jane, he's an asshole, but his instincts are almost always dead-on. But oh no, I just had to be the hero…_

Her thoughts went in so many different directions at once, he was having trouble catching them all. Who would have guessed that there would be so much going on under that usual calm demeanour, and that stony face whenever she looked at him? Fascinating. Even more fascinating, he found himself becoming increasingly disturbed by her propensity to blame herself for everything that had happened. Sure, he'd smelled a rat right from the beginning, but _nobody_ could have predicted the end result in time to stop it. Whoever had masterminded that little plan had to be some sick son of a bitch.

"Stop blaming yourself," he said, with conviction. "There was nothing you could have done."

 _Damn, he really is a good guesser. That's just creepy. No wonder he has so many people convinced he has special powers. If I didn't know better, I'd probably be buying it too._

Once again, Lisbon's thoughts rang through his mind as clearly as if she'd shouted them at him. He bit back a smile. Not so doubtful of his psychic powers now, was she?

After a moment, she noticed his lingering gaze, and narrowed her eyes at him.

"Well, you seem right back to your old self," she said. "No lasting damage."

 _Don't look at me like that. You're lucky you've got a concussion or I'd smack that smirk right off your face._

"Nothing but some bumps and bruises," he said with a shrug. "I've had worse."

She took a seat in the chair beside his bed, twisting her crucifix between her fingers, as she was wont to do when she was agitated.

 _He could've died today. I don't understand it. Why did he do what he did? He put himself in serious danger for no reason. If I'd done my job properly in the first place, he wouldn't be in here right now. Oh God, how am I supposed to explain this to Minelli?_

Her concern for him was touching, if not all that surprising. She did have a certain maternal air about her sometimes; there was a story behind that, he was sure, but they didn't often engage in conversation about things like that. Their relationship was more limited to discussion about their cases (on her end), and teasing (on his.) She was cute when she got riled up, all flashing eyes, and heaving breasts, it was a sight he often indulged himself in by irritating her as much as he could.

She was scrutinizing him closely now; he felt strangely awkward as her eyes roamed over his face, pausing briefly when they met his own, before moving swiftly on.

 _Figures. The jerk gets blown up and there's not a hair out of place._

What was it with women and his hair? He'd woken up after many other hangovers to his previous conquests running their fingers through it, murmuring things under their breaths as though they thought they were the heroines in some pathetic chick flick. But he'd always put a stop to that little notion right there. Made it clear in no uncertain terms that his interest in them had ended the moment they'd finished the previous night. He never came first (that would just be selfish, not to mention embarrassing) but by the time they were done he'd already seen all there was to see, and learned everything he cared to know. Plenty more fish in the sea. Hit the road, Jackie. (He'd actually used that line once. Jackie hadn't been amused.)

Most flushed red, collected their clothes, and slammed the door on the way out with some kind of parting shot ( _bastard_ being the insult of choice, but with plenty of _jerk, asshole_ , and _douchebag_ to add a little variety.) Two had slapped him. Some thanked him for a great night, and left with a good grace. And then there were the clingy ones. The hair-stroking, coffee-making, I-thought-we-had-something-special ones; they were the most tiresome of all. But one way or another, they all got the message. Patrick Jane would be tied down to no woman; and as long as he had his looks, and his charm, and his cash, his bed would never be empty, except by choice.

He looked up at her again, to see her scanning the details on his chart at the foot of the bed.

"That's confidential information Agent Lisbon," he said, and noticed her jump. "I could have you arrested for that."

 _I'd like to see you try._ She said it as she thought it, and he once again experienced the bizarre sensation of hearing it magnified.

"I wanted to know if you'd been prescribed any medication, so I can make sure to force it on you and make sure you take it."

 _No way are you going to drop dead on my watch. Minelli would have my badge. And you're not worth the effort of the hours of paperwork it would create._

Okay, he wouldn't deny, that one hurt a little. Sure, they weren't exactly what you could call 'friends' but they got on all right, didn't they? They got cases solved. And what had happened to all the relief and 'Thank God he's alive' she'd been spouting when she'd first arrived. Clearly, the initial shock was wearing off.

She replaced the chart and then gave him a hard look. "I have to say, Jane, I've seen you do a lot of stupid things to prove you're right, but this one took the biscuit. You could have been killed."

There it was, the perfect opening. "I suppose you're wondering why I did it?"

"No."

 _Yes._

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

 _No. I'm dying to know, but I'm not about to give him the satisfaction of telling him that. He probably spotted some money on the ground or something. Opportunistic jerk._

"Hey!' he blurted, before he could stop himself. "I've got plenty of money believe me, I don't have to go scrabbling around on the ground for it, like some sort of pauper."

He watched her face change, from surprise at his initial outburst, to shock when his words hit home, to utter terror as she realised she'd never spoken them out loud. He could see the beginning and ending of each emotion as it morphed into the next, as sharply as though somebody had photographed them. It was an incredible sight. How had he not noticed how expressive her face was before?

Probably because he was usually focusing on points further south, he realized. But he noticed now that she had very pretty eyes. Green, the kind of deep, pure green you didn't see too often in people.

 _I didn't say that out loud! I didn't! But I must have, otherwise how would he have known what I said? Should I apologise?_

Her thoughts began to flow faster and faster, as the panic began to set in.

 _I know I didn't say it! But how he did know? Maybe he really is psychic. But there's no such thing, I know there isn't. Maybe I should apologise. But I never said anything! Oh God, I need a coffee, or a week of sleep. Or both. Or maybe just some food, I'm so hungry._

She lifted her arm to check her watch.

 _God is that the time? It's so late and I haven't eaten all day. He needs to rest, and I need to get a hold of myself. That little girl needs us more than ever now that she's down a parent, thanks to me. I'll go grab some dinner and head back to the office, maybe find some new leads._

"Time to go?" he asked, as she pushed the chair back and stood up, rubbing the back of her neck. He'd noticed before that she carried a lot of tension there, particularly when they were on a complicated case. He'd offered to give her a hand with it once or twice, but had been rejected every time, with varying degrees of irritability.

"Visiting hours ended half an hour ago," she said. "The only reason they let me in was because I flashed my badge at them. Anyway, you need to rest."

 _You may still look like a movie star, but you had a close call today._

She narrowed her eyes at him once more. "And don't you dare even _think_ of checking yourself out before the doctor says it's OK, or I'll drag you back here myself. I'll even knock you unconscious again if I have to."

 _I'd so love to have an excuse to punch you in the face, after all the crap you've given me._

He chuckled a little at that one. After all, he couldn't say he begrudged her that. Women had punched in the face for offences far smaller than the ones he had inflicted on her. She seemed to have an unusually high tolerance for bullshit. He'd always liked that about her.

"I won't move a muscle," he said. "Scout's honour." He gave the salute.

She rolled her eyes. "Goodnight, Jane."

 _If you were ever a boy scout, I'm the Queen of Sheba._

By the time morning broke, Jane was about to ready to stage a breakout from the hospital. After Lisbon had left last night, he'd used his cell phone to reschedule the reading he was supposed to have done that day. Mrs Wheatley, (a dear old lady looking to reach out to her recently-deceased son) had clucked her tongue in sympathy when he told her of his plight, and urged him to 'take good care of himself' instead of worrying about her. It seemed she'd seen the news report about the incident and he'd come off as quite the hero, which was a pleasant surprise. No doubt this would help to drum up even more business, and he'd be able to put a deposit down on a second home sooner than he'd anticipated. Not that he needed one of course, but he'd been hankering after one for months. Nothing said success and affluence like two beachfront houses, after all.

He also noted that he failed to hear a single one of Mrs Wheatley's thoughts during the conversation; clearly this meant that some degree of physical proximity was required for his new mind connection to work. That discovery had nixed his initial brilliant plan of conducting his psychic business over the phone (to save himself running all around California to clients; it was a pain sometimes.) He had quickly moved on from this disappointment however, by remembering that his very best selling power was his handsome face anyway, which would be no use to him at all through a phone. He had flashed smiles at many a client in order to entice them to part with a little more money, and more often that not, it had worked.

He hadn't managed to get a wink of sleep all night; he'd never realized before how noisy hospitals were, with things beeping and tapping, and banging and crashing all through the night, and he would have given his right arm for them all to stop _thinking_ , just for five minutes. It was relentless, nurses and doctors coming in to check his vitals, the nice lady who brought the dinner cart round, the patients in neighbouring beds, and their visitors, their thoughts assaulted him in a mish-mash of random words and phrases that never stopped. And it was all so _boring_. It was like being constantly surrounded by the world's most inane talk show that could never be turned off. He'd given up on sleep completely at about 3am, as the nurse taking his vitals rehearsed a long and elaborate break-up speech in her head. He greeted the morning with an ill grace, which slowly festered until his doctor turned up. When she heard about his sleepless night she floated the idea of him staying a few hours more, but he flatly refused, and she finally agreed that he could be released. He couldn't get out the door fast enough.

Once safely outside the hospital doors, he called Lisbon, who berated him for not staying longer. He made no apology for leaving and told her in no uncertain terms that he had the doctor's permission and would not be going back. She sighed once, but said she'd arrange for someone to come and pick him up and bring him to the CBI. They were short of both time and leads on Charlotte Kincaid, and he knew they'd need all the help they could get.

When the SCU's Suburban pulled up beside him, he saw the driver was Van Pelt, who reached over to let him in.

"Hey Jane," she smiled at him. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been worse. Thanks for the lift."

"No problem."

 _Here I am, a glorified taxi service, when I could be researching more on the case. How much longer am I going to have to be the team rookie that gets stuck with all the crappy jobs?_

He was impressed at the way the easy smile never left her face, never belying the markedly less pleasant monologue running through her head. That was a skill, one that would come in very handy in police work. Sometimes to deal with rotten people, a little duplicity was in order, he thought.

"Ready to go?" she asked.

 _If we're not on our way back to the office soon, Lisbon will start to wonder where we are, and she'll worry for nothing. This whole case has already got her on edge; I don't know how much more she can take._

Jane hid a smile as he got into the car and buckled his seatbelt. It was nice to hear the young agent's thoughts about the woman she clearly saw as a mentor. Lisbon spent so much time rubbing shoulders with the scum of the earth (himself included) it was nice to know that she had people who cared about her. She was a good person. She deserved that much at least.

Gee, this insight into everyone's thoughts sure was making him sentimental all of a sudden. Ick. Sentimentality lead to feelings, feelings lead to complications, and complications lead to trouble.

They stopped off at his place so he could take a quick shower and change clothes, and he offered to drive himself to the office when he was done so she could get back.

"It's okay," she said.

 _Yeah right, Lisbon would have my head on a plate if I let you drive in your condition._

When they reached CBI, they bypassed the security desk, where he experienced a few of Merilee's thoughts as he smiled a hello to her.

 _Poor man, what's he doing here, straight from the hospital? He must really want to help that little girl. That's so sweet._

Her male companion rolled his eyes once again.

 _Oh great, here we go again, with the fawning over Patrick Jane. As if his head wasn't big enough already. Asshole._

Well that wasn't very nice.

"You have a good day, Jeff," he addressed the man, startling out of his thoughts.

"Same to you, Mr Jane."

 _Six months this jerk's been working here and he's never so much as looked me in the eye, now he's actually speaking to me? Must have hit his head harder than I realised._

As Jane followed Van Pelt into the elevator he was a little surprised at the disquiet he felt when he heard Jeff's comment. He'd always prided himself on his ability to charm people and his general affability when dealing with the public. Had he really never acknowledged Jeff once, the whole time he'd been working here? He considered it; it was certainly possible. Whenever he passed the desk, his attention was invariably drawn straight to an adoring Merilee, preening under her flattering attention.

It wouldn't kill him to act a little more civilly towards Jeff, he supposed. It might even make the security screen process go a little more smoothly in future; he had long suspected that the days he required extra scrutiny were the other man's handiwork.

 _Why is he so quiet?_

Van Pelt was leaning against the wall of the elevator, watching the numbers change as they passed each floor.

 _Normally, he'd be hitting on me right now._

He cut his eyes away from her, hiding a smirk. Oh yes, he had certainly made a salacious comment or two to the pretty redhead since they'd met. She had an endearing naiveté about her that made it extra fun to tease her, but he knew deep down she enjoyed the attention.

 _Maybe he's finally figured out that I'm not interested._

Oh.

He'd known she'd never actually end up sleeping with him, but he'd always believed it to be mainly because she felt it would be unprofessional. It hadn't actually occurred to him that she might simply just not be interested. That was rare. Even women who weren't looking for a relationship usually didn't mind taking a roll in the hay with him; after all, he had a reputation as a good lay for a reason. Women didn't lie to each other about those kinds of things.

His thought process was broken as the elevator doors slid open and just like in the hospital, his brain was assaulted with a cacophony noise from the and thoughts from the occupants of the floor. It hit him like a freight train, a barrage of noise so intense that he clapped his hand to his forehead and winced.

 _Another useless lead, what a waste of time._

 _I need a coffee; this one's gone so cold it's disgusting._

 _Ugh, a meeting with the Deputy Director later, I knew I should have called in sick today._

 _Aargh! A spider! Kill it! Kill it!_ Then the heavy thud of a book being slammed against the floor.

Somewhere over the din, he heard an alarmed Van Pelt ask if he was all right, but couldn't actually seem to form an answer. He wanted to scream at them all to just shut up already, but knew dimly, that if he did that they'd all think he was insane, and whatever psychic mystique he'd gained since coming to consult here would go up in smoke.

But oh, this was unbearable. How was he supposed to get anything done, if the world simply refused to give him even a moment's peace?

A hand closed over his forearm and began to lead him away; he didn't bother to resist and allowed himself to be guided along like some frail old man. Van Pelt, the dear heart, must have taken pity on him (or at least had grown tired of being implicated in the scene his dramatic turn had caused.)

They passed through the office, and the noise continued, but he found that if he breathed deeply and kept himself relaxed, it wasn't quite as overbearing as it had been before. It could only get on top of him if he allowed it to. Mind over matter, as it were.

 _I knew he should have stayed in hospital. Why can't he just listen to me for once?_

Okay, so Van Pelt had not been the one to come to his rescue. Only Teresa Lisbon could have sounded both that concerned and that pissed off with him at the same time.

She had nice hands, he noted. Soft, and quite warm.

Into the Serious Crimes bullpen they went, and more thoughts came to his attention, but familiar voices this time.

 _What's up with Jane? He looks like he's seen a ghost. Well, he is a psychic, maybe he has. Wow, Grace looks so beautiful today, like an angel. If I went a got a coffee I could get her one too; she'd like that. I think._

Well, he hadn't needed psychic powers to figure that one out. Wayne Rigsby was a man of great moral character and a good cop, but his crush on Van Pelt was about as subtle as a steam train.

 _Call the widow; see if we can talk her again; look into their friends and associates. Jane looks like a car ran over him._

It figured that stoic, no-nonsense Kimball Cho, who always got straight to the point, would think in the same way too.

They passed the old leather couch he liked to lie on sometimes during cases. He told them that he used the time to 'commune with the spirits' though most of the time he was just sleeping off last night's hangover. Lisbon steered him into her office, and the moment the door shut behind them, finally, there was blessed silence. He could have kissed her.

"You look like crap," she said, depositing him on the couch.

"Well thanks Lisbon, just what a guy wants to hear."

"Did you sleep at all last night?"

"Sure. Full eight hours, like a good boy scout."

 _The hell you did. More likely that you went and screwed one of the nurses in a supply closet somewhere, or maybe two or three. I can never tell with you._

"Go to your couch in the bullpen and take a nap then. It's what you do most of the time anyway."

He shook his head at her. "Too loud."

"It never bothered you before."

"Someone turned the volume up." If she only knew.

 _What? That explosion must have scrambled his brain even more than the doctors could see. Maybe I should take him back to the hospital._

"I'm fine," he insisted, shooting her his most winning smile. Anything to avoid another trip to the hospital.

 _Save the lady-killer smile, I'm not buying it._

"You're no use to us like this," she said instead. "The team and I are going out to canvass the Kincaid's neighbourhood again, and see if we can get some answers from the widow. Stay here, grab a few hours sleep, and you can join us again when we get back."

"I think I should come with you now," he said. "If you haven't noticed, grieving widows are kind of my specialty."

"Not on your life. That woman is in pain, the last thing she needs is you screwing around with her emotions."

That was a cheap shot. "Hey! I've helped lots of people come to terms with the passing of a loved one. What makes you think I won't do the same for her?"

 _I think you hook them in, tell them what they want to hear, and then rob them blind. I can't do anything about the stupid rich ladies that fall into your clutches, but so help me, I can keep this poor woman from suffering the same fate._

So that was what she thought of him. A swindler, a charlatan. And all right, maybe he was, but somehow hearing it from her made it sound so much worse. What right did she have to judge him anyway? So he told a few little lies to rich clients about their dead relatives or dogs or goldfish or whatever. They ended up with peace of mind and he ended up with a nice income. Everybody won.

"If you really want to help her, get some sleep, get your act together, and help us find her daughter."

 _If it were up to me, we'd be working this case without you, but you were right about the drop yesterday, so I can put my pride aside for this girl. And if you could stop being such an entitled jackass for a while, we might even be able to work as a team, and achieve something here._

She was really serious about this. She really cared about this case. How did she do it? Care so much about everything, all the time? Wasn't it exhausting?

There was a brief tap on the door, and Cho entered the room.

"Boss, we're ready to roll. You coming with?"

Lisbon mustered up a smile for her second-in-command. "I'll be right there. I'll drive."

Jane smirked to himself. Of course she'd drive. Control freak that she was.

"You got it, see you down there in five." He cut his eyes to Jane. "Are we making room for him too?"

"Not this time. I need him conscious if he's going to be any help to us."

 _Not to mention, he'll probably just upset the widow even more,_ thought Cho, before repeating the thought out loud, never one to beat about the bush.

"You guys really don't have any faith in me, do you?" Jane said, sulkily.

"No," replied Cho, shortly, and left the room. Lisbon smirked after him.

 _Good old Cho. He'll make a great unit leader someday._

Lisbon began gathering her things and stowing papers and files in her desk.

 _How do I know he's not going to go through my stuff while I'm gone? There's confidential files in here, if he sees them and says something I could lose my job."_

She froze in the action of shutting the drawer.

"Relax," he said. "I'm not interested in snooping through the mundane workings of the California Bureau of Investigation, or in destroying your career. All I want to do is sleep." He took care to put enough boredom and disdain in his voice that she'd buy it.

 _He got all that just from me tidying my desk? Am I really so easy to read? Well, just in case…"_

He heard a key turn and a lock click.

"Are you ever going to trust me, Agent Lisbon?" he asked.

"I'd like to, one day."

 _But you've got to earn it first._

 **A/N: I have a feeling that Donnamour1969 and I are going to really have fun with this story and I hope you guys will have fun with it too.**


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Waterbaby and I continue to be so appreciative of your inspiring reviews! Thanks so much for taking the time to let us know what you think. Sorry this chapter is later than I would have liked, but it is very long, so I hope that makes up for it.

 **Chapter 3**

Jane awoke a few hours later on Lisbon's couch to complete, blessed silence. For a moment, as he looked up at Lisbon's office ceiling, he could almost imagine that the last twenty-four hours had just been a crazy dream, that he wasn't suddenly able to read people's minds for real. He took out his cell phone and looked at the time. 12:23 p.m. No wonder it was so quiet; everyone was out for lunch, and Lisbon's team was working on the Kincaid case. He sighed and stood up, the desire for a cup of tea almost overwhelming.

He only felt slightly dizzy as he got to his feet, but it quickly faded away. His headache was less intense, and he walked with relative clarity to the breakroom. He filled the electric teakettle and rummaged in the cabinet for tea bags and the tea cup he'd hidden in the back behind the #1 Boss mug and the old tin of artificial sweetener no one ever used. About a month ago, he'd brought one of his mother's old Fiestaware cups—turquoise blue-that had been in the cupboard of their Airstream during his entire childhood. If he was going to hang around the CBI very often, he needed a sturdy tea cup with just the right balance in the handle, like a fencer's perfect sword. A "civilized cup," as his mother used to call them. Of course, no one need ever know the sentimentality he'd felt about her old dishware, only that it helped him think.

He heard Lisbon before she had fully entered the room, wondering if she would find him in the breakroom, making his usual _stuffy cup of tea._

He responded to her before a normal person would have known she was even behind him.

"Tea's not stuffy," he corrected her, "it's… _invigorating_. Don't knock it…"

 _How the hell does he do that?_

He turned to see her hesitating in the doorway, her eyes wide in disbelief at his powers of perception. She blinked once, and forced away her musing.

"You look better than you did earlier. Not as pale."

Her thoughts backed up her words, and he nodded while the teakettle began to simmer. His lips quirked.

"Thanks. Any breaks in the case?"

"No," she said with a sigh, moving to make a fresh pot of coffee. _We are at a solid dead end. That poor little girl, wherever she is._ "Nothing new, and the rest of the team is still out canvassing for leads."

"Let me talk to the widow," he said, and it suddenly occurred to him that he would be able to look into Mrs. Kincaid's thoughts and see if she was really keeping things from them. "You know as well as I do that she is the one who would gain the most by her husband's death. Crimes are usually committed against those closest to the victim, and Kincaid was rich as Croesus."

 _We've thought of this already. You must think we're total morons._

"We've already had this conversation, Jane, and the answer's still no. Cho's already been at her, and he's the best interrogator I've ever seen," she said tightly.

Jane frowned.

"I know you're not idiots," he said defensively. "But another set of eyes and ears couldn't hurt. That's why Minelli took me on, isn't it?"

She regarding him silently for a moment, but her thoughts were anything but.

 _This is a stupid idea, Teresa. Don't fall for his crap. It would be a waste of time, and we need the mother to be as calm as possible to make cognizant decisions._

Still reeling from her earlier (and somewhat accurate) appraisal of his character, he felt compelled to prove her wrong.

"I swear I'll be on my best behavior. The moment I seem to be stepping out of line, give me one of your disapproving nun glances, and I'll get the hell out of there."

He took a step toward her, but this time she stood her ground. He heard her tell herself she wasn't going to let his charisma intimidate her anymore. He almost smiled at that, but at the same time it was difficult to hear that she was wary of him for any reason. He abruptly changed tactics, taking a respectful step back to give her space again. She softly let out the breath she'd been holding.

"Look," he said, trying for his usual casual tone, "I really want to find the bastard who nearly blew me up, so I promise I won't screw around with a potential witness. Besides, if you don't let me do what I do, I'll claim that you forfeited our deal, and I'll be by your place this evening to collect you for our date."

Her mind went totally blank for a moment as she regarded him, as if she were suddenly stripped of her ability to think. He liked this power he had over her. But then, she spoke.

"This is blackmail, you know," she said angrily. _I should have known he wouldn't play fair. But what do you expect from a womanizing fraud?_

He chose to respond to the words she'd said aloud; the rest was too uncomfortably close to the truth.

"It's not blackmail if you both want the end result," he said quietly, capturing her gaze and holding it.

 _You wish, buddy._ But even her own thoughts were sounding uncertain, as if she were trying to convince herself he had no effect on her. He was finding out that this woman, so strong and together on the outside, was masking an endearing vulnerability within. And part of that vulnerability had to do with his proximity.

"Fine," she relented, outwardly ignoring his stab at seduction. "But I'm only allowing this on the off chance you can see something we missed. And unless you find that little girl, there will be no dates with me, tonight, or any night, got it?"

"Ay, ay, Captain," he said, saluting her with two arrogant fingers.

She turned with a silent groan to prepare her coffee, while he retrieved milk from the refrigerator. A thought occurred to him as he dunked his tea bag.

"Why are you back here if your team is still out there investigating?"

She paused. _Shit,_ she thought.

"I came to catch up on some paperwork."

"Liar," he said with a grin.

Even if he couldn't read her mind, he would know the real answer: she was worried about him.

"I'm not lying. The world doesn't revolve around you."

"She doth protest too much, etcetera…Be that as it may, I'll be happy to accept your offer of a ride back to the Kincaid's."

"I didn't offer."

"You were about to."

 _I so hate him._

"You secretly adore me," he countered her unspoken thoughts. "No use denying it." His smile was the height of smugness.

She snorted derisively. "Yeah, right. Let me at least finish my coffee, Carnac."

"You forgot the _Magnificent_ part of my title."

"No, I didn't."

Jane merely smiled and sipped his tea.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"She didn't do it," said Jane, after his interview with Kincaid's widow. "Not the kidnapping, not the bomb."

He'd led her out to the beautiful veranda in the back of the family's incredible mansion, away from the loud thoughts of the grieving widow and her equally distraught family. Well, all but her brother-in-law.

"You're sure?" she asked, and he could hear no doubts in her voice or in her mind. It warmed him somehow.

"Yes. But her brother-in-law did."

"What? How do you know?"

Jane hesitated. No way he could say this without sounding like the charlatan he used to be. "I uh, got a good read on him."

Her mouth formed a straight, cynical line. "Well, did you get a good read on where Charlotte is by chance?"

"No. But I believe I could, if I could talk to him alone. Could you go in and arrange that? Send him out here to me?"

It was too loud inside the house at the moment, too rife with emotion and words, both spoken and unspoken. That was why he had escaped outside.

"And I'll need something more of Charlotte's," he continued, for once slightly ashamed by employing his old tricks.

"You've already done that with her Teddy bear. You got nothing, as I recall. Why bother with another cheap prop?"

"I know it's not real, Teresa, but I need to use one of her possessions as a catalyst to get him thinking about where he put her. He's guarding his thoughts right now, and I want to force those unwanted thoughts into the forefront of his mind. He's taking no chances that I might be a real psychic."

"So you're admitting all that insight from a person's possessions is a load of crap?"

"Not entirely. Someone's possessions give me clues about their personality. And in this case, it will allow me to better pull out the information from his mind."

She sighed in disappointment, and her thoughts about him were painfully sarcastic and skeptical. "You still maintain you can read minds? Seriously?"

"Yes," he said, and it was strange not to be lying about it now.

She must have seen the sincerity in his eyes, but she chalked it up to self-delusion—not exactly what he was aiming for.

 _I can't freakin' believe this. He actually believes his own shtick now._

She put up her hands in surrender. "Fine. I'll ask him to come out here, but I'm going to be present during your questioning. No way I'm leaving you alone with him." _Especially if he's a killer,_ she continued in her mind.

His smile was wistful, and he reached out, picked up a lock of her dark hair, rubbed it briefly between two fingers before letting it fall again. She trembled slightly at his touch, at his nearness, and her mind went pleasantly fuzzy.

"You can never quite manage to have complete faith in me, can you?" he asked softly. "And yet you still throw me lots of little bones. I'd say your feelings for me are rather… _mixed._ "

 _That's an understatement,_ she thought, taking a step away from him. _But I really wish I_ _ **could**_ _trust you._

"I'll go get Jasper Kincaid for you."

"You can, you know, Teresa," he said to her back. "Trust me."

But by then she was too far away for him to hear her answering thoughts.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A few minutes later, Jane sat on the comfortable patio settee next to Lisbon, holding one of Charlotte's little hooded sweatshirts. It was pink, with multicolored unicorns scattered about among kittens and rainbows. Across from them, Jasper Kincaid, tall, dark and handsome, sat in a matching chair, looking composed and slightly skeptical. Inside Jasper's mind, Jane felt that he had built up some sort of psychic wall against Jane's mental probing. Interesting, but damned frustrating.

"She's near a body of water," Jane said, closing his eyes to better show his communion with her spirit. He felt Lisbon's slight nudge of her knee against his. She wasn't believing this bullshit at all.

 _Really? Sheesh._

Jane did his best not to smile, but nudged her back, gently, enjoying the brief thrill he felt at her touch. He listened closely to Jasper's thoughts, but still got nothing.

And then, as he clutched the little girl's hoodie, images began to flash unbidden into Jane's mind. Charlotte. She _was_ near the water, for he could see a familiar bridge as if he were looking out a window, could almost feel the cold fog enclosing him. His body stilled, and he saw a city spread before him, a pyramid-shaped building dominating the horizon. Then his view changed, and he was looking at the interior of a luxurious house, a girl's bedroom fit for a princess, pink canopy bed, a doll house, shelves filled with books, stuffed animals and toys, all with the Kincaid Toys logo.

 _Hi. Who are you?_

A little's girl's voice echoed in his brain as clearly as if she were sitting beside him.

With a startled gasp, Jane dropped the hoodie like a snake, his frightened eyes flying open.

"Jane?" said Lisbon, the concern in her voice coinciding with her own surprised thoughts. Her small hand gripped his arm. "You okay?"

Jane swallowed, his eyes refocusing on the present and his immediate surroundings—the warmth of the sun, the beauty of the Kincaid's landscaped garden around them. Then his gaze fell upon Jasper.

"Where the hell is she?" he growled.

The man's cool expression faltered a moment in hesitation.

"If I knew, Mr. Jane, I'd certainly tell Madison. She's going crazy with worry. My brother's dead because of the kidnappers. Why would I want to continue hurting my family like this?"

"Because you want what your brother has: his company, his wife…his _child_."

"You get all that nonsense from touching a sweatshirt? You're out of your goddamn mind." He stood abruptly. "I don't have to sit still for this crap." He turned to Lisbon. "Why don't you do us all a favor and get this swindler the hell out of my house. He's only upsetting everyone."

"Since when has it become _your_ house," asked Jane casually. The man's mouth formed an angry line, and for once, he heard Jasper's inner voice very clearly: _Asshole._

But in that brief moment, Jane also sensed something else— _fear_. Without another word, Jasper went back inside through the wide French doors.

Lisbon looked back at Jane, not daring to believe, but unable to get past the obvious trance he'd been in. "You saw something, didn't you?"

"Yes," said Jane, grimly. "She's in San Francisco, I'm sure of it, in a house she knows well."

 _How could he possibly know that?_

"Because I saw it myself," Jane answered her unspoken question. "And because…Charlotte spoke to me."

He was just as shocked at this realization as Lisbon was.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A call to Van Pelt led to the discovery that Jasper Kincaid owned a house in San Francisco, on a Nob Hill street overlooking the Trans-America Building, the Oakland Bay Bridge in the distance. Without alerting the family, Jane, Lisbon, Cho and Rigsby travelled by SUV to the address a ninety-minute drive away. When they arrived, a blond little girl was being shoved into the backseat of a black Lexus sedan, a matronly woman getting hastily in the driver's seat. Lisbon, who had been driving, pulled their SUV across the steep driveway entrance, effectively blocking the Lexus from escaping.

The team got out of the car, guns drawn.

Jane slowly disembarked once the woman was cuffed, Lisbon calling the San Francisco PD for assistance. He walked up the driveway to the car, opening a door to the backseat. A pair of wide green eyes in an angelic face greeted him.

 _It's you,_ she said, her thoughts calling out to his.

 _Fuck,_ he thought.

She gave him a stern look, very similar to one of Lisbon's. _Mommy says that's not a very nice word._

 _You're right,_ he thought back at her, shocked that not only could he hear her thoughts, _she_ could hear his. _Sorry._

He squatted down in front of her on the driveway, his hands going to her delicate upper arms as he looked deeply into her pale eyes.

"Are you afraid?"

She laughed. "Of course not," she said, sounding wise beyond her years. "Nanny is nice. She bought me red velvet cupcakes from the bakery."

 _How old are you?_ he thought, experimentally.

"Four," she said out loud.

 _And you can hear my thoughts?_

 _Yes._

 _Can you hear everyone's?_

 _Sometimes, but I don't like to. Uncle Jasper taught me how to push them out, so I do that when it's too loud. He stops me from listening to_ _ **him**_ _too._

 _How?_

 _I don't know. You look like the prince in my book._

Jane smiled, charmed in spite of himself. "And you look like a little princess," he said, just as Lisbon came around the car to join the conversation.

 _What's your name?_

 _Patrick._

 _Mine's Charlotte._

 _So I've heard._

"Is everything all right here?" she asked cautiously, looking the little girl over critically for possible injury.

"Yeah," said Jane, rising. To his wonderment, Charlotte took his hand, which completely engulfed her tiny one. He didn't let go, and was surprised how much he didn't want to.

"Why are they taking Nanny away?" asked Charlotte, frowning as Cho put her caregiver in the back of the SUV. "Did she do something bad?"

Lisbon bent her knees beside the girl, mimicking Jane's recent pose. "Charlotte, honey, has anyone hurt you since you've been away from home?"

The girl was genuinely surprised. "No. Uncle Jasper said Mommy and Daddy had to go on a business trip, so I was staying here with him and Nanny." She looked up at Jane. _Where are they? I want to go home now._

Jane purposefully made his thoughts go blank, before reciting in his mind the scores from the last fifty World Series games, in order. This wasn't the way a child should find out her father was dead, and by her own uncle's hands.

Once the nanny was secure in back of the SUV, Cho and Rigsby drew their weapons again, removing the keys from the Lexus to open the front door to search the house.

"I wanna go home," said Charlotte, her voice trembling for the first time. Her eyes began to swim with unshed tears.

"I know, sweetie," said Lisbon, "but we have to make sure everything is safe first. A nice lady will be coming to take care of you for a little while."

Jane looked helplessly at Lisbon, who stood again, and taking out her phone, moved out of earshot, and Jane heard her tell herself that she needed to call Child Services. The girl would need a complete examination by a doctor, and would remain in protective custody until her mother could be cleared of John Kincaid's murder, or another, more reliable relative could be found.

 _Poor kid,_ Lisbon was thinking sadly as she waited for someone to answer her call.

 _Can I stay with you?_ Charlotte thought, squeezing Jane's hand.

 _I'm not very good with kids._

 _Because you don't like them?_

He supposed he needn't bother lying. _Not usually. But I like you._

Cho and Rigsby came out of the house. "Clear," Cho reported to Lisbon. She nodded, still on the phone.

Jane heard the men's thoughts, filled with awe at the luxuriousness of the Nob Hill residence mixed in with pity for the pretty little girl who had the bad luck to have such a shitty uncle. Cho took out his own phone then and turned away from him and the little girl.

 _Van Pelt can go pick up that son of a bitch,_ he was thinking.

Jane assumed he meant Jasper Kincaid.

Leading Charlotte by the hand, he went up the stairs to the house, feeling the unfamiliar need to shield the child from the serious phone calls and the arrival of the police.

 _Do you like magic tricks?_ He asked her, using his mind. It was even more surreal to have someone reading him too.

 _Yes, but magic is fake._

 _Not when I do it._

 _You can't fool me._

 _Wanna make a bet, kid?_

And so it went between them, this easy, unspoken communication as they entered her uncle's house and she showed him the bedroom he had already seen through her eyes. And she was right; he _couldn't_ fool her, not with quarters behind ears or disappearing trinkets. She successfully read his thoughts every time, and told him exactly how he'd done the trick afterwards.

By the time the woman from Child Services arrived, Jane found himself almost…reluctant to let the child go.

"Miss Summers will take you to a very nice place," said Lisbon, after introducing the pretty young woman to Charlotte. "There will be other children to play with."

Charlotte held tightly to Jane's hand and looked up at him with watery, pleading eyes.

 _I don't want to go. I want to stay with you._

 _It won't be for long._

 _Will you come and visit me?_

Jane hesitated, and found himself thinking, _Yes._

 _Promise?_

 _Yes._

At Charlotte's insistence, Jane walked her to Miss Summers's car, parked on the street.

"Be a good girl," said Jane, because that was what one was supposed to say to small children.

 _I'll try, but no guarantees._

Jane laughed aloud, causing the other two women, not privy to their silent conversation, to look at each other with questioning glances.

Charlotte hugged him around the waist, and Jane's hands found their way atop her soft curls.

"I'll see you soon," he said aloud.

"Okay."

 _She likes you,_ thought Charlotte, glancing toward the women.

Jane focused on Miss Summers' thoughts, but could find no such evidence beyond the usual feminine appreciation of his good looks.

 _No, silly. Miss Teresa._

Sure enough, when he looked at Teresa, he could feel a veritable flood of her warm thoughts and feelings wash over him regarding how he had been so gentle and kind to Charlotte.

 _And you like her too._

"Get in the car, you little urchin," he said roughly, and once Miss Summers had helped her buckle in in the back seat, he shut the door behind her. Without another glance at the child, Jane put his hands in his suit coat pocket and walked back toward the SUV, empty now since the police took the nanny away. He leaned against the passenger side door.

 _Good-bye, Patrick,_ he heard Charlotte inside his head.

 _Good-bye, Squirt._

And then Miss Summers drove them away. He ignored the brief, unfamiliar tightening in his chest. _Too many heavy muffins this morning,_ he thought.

Lisbon soon joined him at the SUV.

 _That was the sweetest thing I've ever seen,_ she was thinking.

"Not a fan of children, eh?" she said, gently mocking him.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "That one wasn't quite as annoying as most of them."

She grinned. _Sure._

She reached down and touched his arm. "How did you know he had her?"

He looked down at her hand, felt it seem to burn through his sleeve. It wasn't any safer looking into her eyes, especially with the first expression of pure admiration she had ever directed his way. It was a bit unsettling, but in a very good way.

"I told you. I get readings and insight from people's belongings."

"That's not exactly what you said earlier, but anyway, you actually seemed to _know_ where she was. How—how can that be?"

He shook his head. "I don't know," he replied sincerely. "It just…came to me."

"Well, I for one am very grateful. And I'm sure her mother will be too if we clear her of colluding with Jasper Kincaid."

"She didn't have anything to do with this. It was all Jasper. I'm sure you'll find he's been named replacement CEO in his brother's will. And I would hazard a guess that he's in love with the widow."

"Bastard," said Lisbon.

"Definitely."

A thought suddenly occurred to Jane. He smiled. "It would seem, Agent Lisbon, that you owe me a date."

His first thought was that she would resist, or at the very least, try to get out of it, but to his pleasant surprise accompanied by the subsequent leap of his heart, he sensed nothing but warmth from her at the prospect.

"I guess so," she said, and she blushed prettily, but turned back toward the approaching Cho and Rigsby to talk shop before he could catch any formed words in her mind.

On the way back to Sacramento, Jane was treated to Rigsby's disturbing dreams about Van Pelt as he napped in the backseat beside him, and the words of Cho's latest classic novel as the written words flowed through his mind. Jane recognized the text as being from _All Quiet on the Western Front,_ and because he'd read it as a teenager, he was easily able to tune it out. Lisbon's thoughts, however, were truly fascinating.

They flitted from the case and all the monotonous paperwork that would go along with its closing, the upcoming debriefing with Minelli, to sympathetic thoughts about Charlotte. Jane had long ago guessed that Lisbon had lost her own parents, but sensing her memories about her lost father touched him on a personal level. He could relate to her as a fellow orphan, smiled as she recalled the last time she and her father had gone fishing on Lake Michigan. The sadness that suffused him when she resolutely pushed the memories out of her mind cut through the usual wall that separated him from experiencing true empathy. He felt her grief, admired her fortitude, felt saddened by her longing to forget.

But then her thoughts turned to him. She hazarded a glance at him in the rearview mirror, and she met his eyes, sober with understanding. The connection shook them both, and her focus shifted purposefully back to the freeway traffic.

 _What the hell was that?_ she asked herself. _This man is a fraud, a selfish, self-centered, egotistical playboy. He's nothing but trouble, and I'm not going to fall for his insincere lines or his stupid sexy hair or his freakin' ridiculous smile. We'll go out on this one date and that'll be it. Under no circumstances will I let him sweet talk me or-God forbid—let him kiss me._

And then, against her own personal pep talk, she allowed herself to imagine what his mouth would feel like on hers. She wanted the kiss to start out slowly, to be tender and seeking. Then he would draw her to his body, slide his hands into her hair and deepen the kiss. It would be hot and wet and sweet, with just the right amount of tongue—because she hated it when a guy went straight for the tonsils. He grinned as she thought of that particular caveat, felt his body grow both hard from her vivid fantasy.

A fast-moving semi barreled past them, waking her from her personal interlude, and she chastised herself to get her mind back on the damn road.

 _No. No. No, Teresa. He is absolutely, positively off limits. You're not going to be stupid enough to let him seduce you, not going to be added to the endless list of women he's loved and left. Damn man-whore._

Well, that was unkind, if not wholly accurate. He frowned and picked off a piece of lint from his Tom Ford slacks, as her amazingly entertaining mind drifted back to the interrogation to come with the Kincaid family.

Twenty minutes outside of Sacramento, however, she was pondering what dress she'd wear on their date. There was the green one, which she knew brought out her eyes, but it sometimes felt uncomfortably tight in the hips. It depended on the time of the month, whatever that meant. The brown one fit perfectly, but she wondered if it was too staid—after all, she wore it to church sometimes. He hoped she'd settle on the black one, specifically because she was worried the cleavage it exposed would be too much for a first date.

Jane felt like a kid anticipating Christmas morning; he couldn't wait to see what he'd find under the tree.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Merry Christmas to me," he muttered under his breath two nights later, when Lisbon walked into the bar on the bottom floor of the apartment building where he lived. She was wearing the black dress, and her previous cleavage concerns did not disappoint. Apparently she'd erred on the side of their original agreement, opting for maximum cleavage enhancement. He downed the last of his Scotch and rose to meet her, taking in her fabulous dress and killer figure.

Her eyes scanned him too, and she apparently liked what she saw—he had a secret passion for good evening wear. Her thoughts were disjointed but definitely flattering. When his grin came, slow and knowing, her hand went self-consciously to her chest, and he wondered if her heart was pounding as erratically as his was.

Before he could read her mind, he'd thought she might have a bit of a crush on him, but since he'd gotten into her brain, his assumptions had been totally thrown out the window on a daily basis. Why, just the day before, she'd thought he was a bottom feeding womanizer, but after Charlotte's rescue, she was suddenly thinking about kissing him. It was confusing, because this woman was a walking contradiction, but it was also infinitely exciting to him because she left him wondering what to expect. He would have thought the ability to read her mind would have bored him; but the more he knew of her inner life, the more intrigued he became.

"I should engage in friendly wagers more often," he murmured, surprising her with a kiss on her cheek. He lingered there, inhaling the scent of Mandarin oranges and some exotic spice he couldn't identify. Her skin was smooth and deliciously warm, and he found himself fighting to keep himself from kissing her passionately in the middle of the bar.

"Would you like a drink before we go to dinner?" he asked.

 _God, yes._

"Why not?" she said instead, with admirable casualness.

He took her by the hand and led her back to the barstools, and she hopped upon one with ladylike aplomb, her dress riding up just enough for him to behold a delicately muscled thigh, firm calves, and a pair of killer red high heeled sandals. He didn't bother hiding his interest, delighting in her blush as he joined her on a neighboring stool. She ordered a shot of whiskey, and he seconded that.

"To Charlotte," she toasted.

He nodded. "To Charlotte." And they both drank.

"Did you go and see her?" she asked, not meeting his eyes directly. She was testing him.

"Yes. This morning. She's doing fine, but misses her mother and her cat—not necessarily in that order." He and Charlotte had had another surprisingly nice visit, and he'd read her favorite fairy tale, "Snow White and Rose Red." He'd changed the ending a bit on purpose, and when she'd giggled and corrected him, the glow he'd felt had stayed with him the rest of the day.

Lisbon smiled, and he was treated to her lovely dimples. "Will it offend you to say I'm pleasantly surprised?"

"No, because I'm inclined to share your disbelief. She's a good kid. My previous experience with children was limited to carnival imps and screaming infants on airplanes."

"Oh, there are still plenty of those. You haven't met my five nieces and nephews."

"Five?"

"And one on the way. When I visit my brothers it's like I've gone to the zoo, only the animals aren't in cages."

He chuckled, waving to the bartender for refills.

"But you still keep going back for more."

"Of course. Family is everything."

In the brief silence while they drank, Jane heard her mentally kicking herself for her careless words. She knew he really had no family, at least none that was close to him. Once again he bore witness to her tendency to blame herself for everything. He toyed with his newly empty shot glass.

"Don't feel sorry for me, Teresa. I'm happy being a loner. Besides, think of all the baby shower gifts I don't have to buy."

She looked at him narrowly. _No one is really happy alone._ "Hmm," was her verbal reply.

He didn't argue.

"Well, enough of this depressing conversation; I've got a wager to gloat over. You hungry?"

"Famished."

He got up from his seat and took her hand to help her, keeping it firmly in his even after she stood securely on her own two feet.

He led her toward the elevator, and he felt a slight tug on his hand.

 _No way he's taking me up to his room on a first date._ She came to a sudden stop at the edge of the elevator landing.

"Where are we going?" she demanded.

"To the best eatery in town," he replied smoothly.

"There's a restaurant at the top of this apartment building?" One eyebrow shot up cynically.

" _Almost_ at the top," he said with a wink, as the elevator dinged its arrival.

"I'm not sleeping with you, Jane."

"That's good, because I have no plans to sleep with _you_ , despite the lovely way you fill out that fabulous dress. It was definitely the right choice, by the way."

"The dress or my decision not to sleep with you?"

He laughed. "Both, I suppose. So you can relax and enjoy the evening. I promise I'll be on my best behavior."

"Well, considering I've never actually witnessed such an occasion, I'll reserve judgment."

"And yet you still got on the elevator with me."

"A deal's a deal. I never renege."

"How very honorable of you," he teased. "And since you are in the mood to take a risk, I have another deal to propose."

The door slid open on the tenth floor, and Lisbon preceded him out to the rich, maroon carpeted landing.

"Room 1515, all the way at the end," he directed. When they reached his room, he removed his key from his pocket and unlocked the door. She stepped into a softly lit room, the view of downtown Sacramento and Tower Bridge through the wall of glass was incredible. Her thoughts were suitably impressed.

"What deal are you proposing?" she asked, turning around to admire the rest of the living area, with its tasteful modern furniture, hardwood floors and expensive Oriental rug.

 _It's beautiful, but cold. This place doesn't really suit him._

He frowned at that. True, he'd hired an interior decorator to design the apartment décor as she'd thought befitting a successful businessman, but in the end he'd had no feelings either way about the place, only that it looked satisfactorily rich, far from the carnival circuit Airstream he'd grown up in.

He moved to the kitchen, poured them each a glass of heady red wine.

"Jane?" she prompted. He still hadn't elaborated on his next proposition.

"Aw, the deal. Or, to be more precise, the _new_ deal." She took the glass of wine from his hand and she followed him back to the kitchen. "Another minute, please, and I'll tell you. Patience."

Jane grinned, knowing without seeing that she had childishly stuck her tongue out at his back.

 _Patience, my ass. Ohhh,_ _something smells heavenly_ , she thought. And when he removed his suit coat and put on oven mitts to bend to the oven, she drew in her breath at the sight of his well-tailored trousers stretched tight over his sexy ass—or so Jane heard her mental appraisal.

He set a bubbling pan atop a trivet on the kitchen island. "Et voila," he proclaimed. "Hope you like eggplant."

"I do," she said. "Eggplant parmigiana is my favorite."

"Now how would I know that?" he teased.

"Psychic maybe?"

"Maybe."

"Okay, then, if you really are psychic, what am I thinking now?"

He stopped after he set a tossed salad beside the casserole, looked into her eyes and into her thoughts.

She was thinking that she was totally impressed by his cooking abilities, by his rescue and kindness to Charlotte, by his humor and his good looks. But she didn't want to be. He was a known scoundrel, a charlatan, an asshole. But somehow in the space of a couple of days she had seen beneath all that, found him to be as intriguing as he found her. Jane heard all of that as clearly as if she'd said it aloud.

But she wasn't ready to say any of that, and he wasn't sure he was ready to hear it spoken. His face relaxed into an easy grin.

"You're wondering if there's garlic bread. Well, of course there is."

He took a foil wrapped package from where it had been warming in the top oven and added it to the menu.

"Well," she said, oddly relieved that he couldn't really read her mind, but of course, that was impossible. "You seemed to have thought of everything. Let me help you serve." She moved around the granite counter to look for the plates.

Soon they were sitting at the dining table, food on their plates, candles lit, wine in their glasses. From his pocket, Jane withdrew a remote control and pointed it toward the living room.

"How about some ambiance," he said, an amused light in his eye. She was expecting something cheesy, he knew, like Barry White or the soundtrack to Bolero; so when the hidden speakers began playing German polka music, she jumped a little in startle. It took her about two seconds to get his joke and she laughed heartily, as he'd hoped she would.

"How's that for Italian-German fusion," he said with a wry smile. "That was the closest I was willing to come."

She took a tentative poke at her food. "No sauerkraut in the parmigiana? Where's your sense of adventure?"

" _Mine_ has never been in question. How about yours, Teresa? Eat up, and I'll give you a chance to show me."

She took a bite, the rich vegetable dish bringing her mind and tastebuds to gastronomical ecstasy. He took a fortifying drink of wine as he watched her chew, eyes closed.

"Oh my God, Jane. This is delicious!"

"Thanks. Have some bread."

She took some from the proffered basket, dipping it heartily into his homemade marinara.

"Now, no more teasing. Get to it," she said, tearing off a ladylike bite of bread with her teeth.

"Okay. I was thinking that since you only went out with me because I won our bet, the chances of receiving a good-night kiss from you are pretty slim."

She nearly choked on her eggplant, and he refilled her wine glass. She took a grateful gulp.

"Well, you'd be right there, buster," she said. "I don't kiss on the first date."

He frowned. "What is this, the 1950's?" He lowered his voice to a condescending whisper. "I hate to tell you this Agent Lisbon, but in the twenty-first century, some couples even have _sex_ on the first date."

She blushed, wiping her mouth with a cloth napkin. "I'm fully aware of the century we're in."

Her mind flashed tantalizingly to an encounter with a tall, dark-haired man; Walter was his name, apparently. Interesting.

"So, uh, I propose that if you have a good time on this date, against all your preconceived notions about me, that you'll reward me with a kiss at the end of the evening."

She set down her fork in favor of more bread. He liked a girl who wasn't afraid of carbs.

"What's to stop me from faking my disappointment in the date and leaving later, alone and unkissed?" But belying her words, he'd seen the pulse jump in her pretty throat.

He leaned forward, eyes steady on hers. "No woman _ever_ fakes with me."

Her answering laughter came from deep in her belly, making her eyes sparkle merrily, her charming dimples creasing her face. She was magnificent.

"Yeah, right," she managed eventually, wiping her eyes. "Every man thinks that. Do we really need to have the _When Harry Met Sally_ conversation?"

"We don't have to have the conversation, Teresa, but I would love to hear you moan."

Her smile instantly faded, and he would have thought he'd gone too far, except her eyes grew luminous in the candlelight.

 _I bet you_ _ **could**_ _make me moan,_ she thought, and his heart skipped a beat. He had the dizzying feeling that he was circling the drain now, on his way to becoming totally lost.

"How about I give you my answer at the end of the date," she said.

"I'll work harder if I know there's a reward at the end."

She shook her head. "You'll work harder if you still think you can change my mind."

Who was the psychic one here?

"Fair enough," he conceded, his smile warm.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

An hour later, they'd finished their dinner, and sat in Jane's living room, polka music replaced with slow jazz, finishing dishes of rich chocolate mousse. He was still recovering from the sensual thoughts he'd heard when she took her first bite of the decadent dessert.

"I have to say, Jane, I'm impressed. Best meal I've had in a long time." She'd slipped off her red heels and sat with one leg beneath her on the white couch. Her hair gleamed in the low light, and her green eyes were soft and more relaxed than he'd ever seen her.

"Enjoying your date, our we?" he asked coyly.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Oh, he knew, all right. She was happy and pleasantly buzzed by the wine, and not a little turned on by both the chocolate and his nearness. It occurred to him that sex with her tonight might not be totally out of the question. He filled her glass again.

"Getting me drunk is not the pathway to a kiss," she warned him. _I'd really like to remember it._

"It will only enhance the experience," he promised.

"Make me forget how bad it was, you mean?"

"I've never heard any complaints," he replied smugly.

"And we're back to how women try to spare men's feelings. Women are very intuitive. They know how fragile the male ego is. They aren't above lying to protect him if he has other qualities she's interested in, or, if she's simply a nice person."

"I'd rather she not lie about things like that."

"Said the professional liar," she quipped.

He wasn't offended. "Be that as it may, if a woman lies about a man's prowess, she's only hurting herself. How can he learn what she really wants if she's too nice to tell him? She dooms herself and the relationship to continued disappointment."

Her eyes narrowed, and she absently took another sip of wine. "Tell me what mortal man can withstand such criticism."

"Me."

She snorted a laugh. "Okay. As part of your reward-should I decide to bestow it-I will offer my sincere, heartfelt critique of your technique, to your personal edification, of course—"

"And to your _own_ future benefit," he added sagely.

"Well, naturally," she said, toasting him with her glass.

He waited a beat, experienced her sweet anticipation for a moment, not to mention his own. Jane found he was suddenly impatient, uncharacteristically nervous and agitated, and he was finding it increasingly difficult not to reach for her and cover her beguiling, crooked smile with his hot mouth. Normally it was the buildup, the waiting that increased his excitement, that paid dividends for them both in the bedroom. He'd encouraged her to be patient earlier, but his own patience was hanging by a very thin thread, and he was boggled by how fast his desire for her had grown.

He stood for something to do with his pent-up energy. "Dance with me," he said impulsively. In for a penny…

She looked up at him, taken aback by his sudden intensity. He made himself appear outwardly relaxed, pasting on his usual cocky smile. When he held out his hand, she took it with only minor hesitation.

Without benefit of her high heels, she was delightfully petite in his arms, and he found himself feeling strangely protective of her, though he'd seen her tackle a perp twice his size.

Her thoughts were dreamy, romantic, and he could feel the increased thrum of her pulse in the small hand he held between them. She liked his smell, liked the feel of his arms around her, liked the soft carpet beneath her feet. She told herself he'd plied her with too much drink, but she wasn't exactly clawing to get away.

When the song ended and another took its place, he felt her smile against his chest. For once, he didn't mind that a woman might leave a trace of powder or lipstick on his expensive shirt. _I love this song,_ she was thinking, and that, to Jane, was worth way more than his dry-cleaning bill.

He pressed his luck by pressing himself closer to her lithe body, by pressing his lips against the top of her sleek hair. She sighed and drew her arms up around his neck, her mind gratifyingly blank, hips swaying, and he wondered if it really _was_ the wine that had caused this incredible change in her attitude toward him.

"Teresa," he murmured, and he knew she must feel his rapid heartbeat beneath her ear.

She looked up at him, slightly off-balance. "It's not the end of the night yet," she said huskily. "I need more time to decide."

That was most definitely a lie, according to her unspoken words.

"Well, I for one can't wait anymore," he said, and then his lips found hers.

As much as he wanted to crush her mouth to his, he remembered what she'd thought about her ideal kiss, and he began slowly, nibbling at her lips, brushing his gently against hers. His hands slid up (per her previously expressed desire) to slip into her hair, and he tilted his head to introduce his gently seeking tongue. He focused on making the kiss as thorough and arousing as he could, not too wet, not too forceful, not going for the tonsils, reveling in the soft sounds she made at the back of her throat. His own mind was so full of trying to make the kiss close to her idea of perfection, that at first he didn't hear her mind switch on with unflattering clarity.

 _Jesus, it's like kissing a robot. What, is he going through a checklist or something?_

Ouch.

He raised his head and looked into sober eyes that were filled with disappointment.

 **A/N: Aw, Karma strikes again for Jane. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks so much for reading! Waterbaby is up next, though she is away on holiday and it might be a couple of weeks before she gets a chance to write. We appreciate your patience, and I'm sure her chapter will be worth the wait.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey guys, waterbaby here. Sorry this chapter took so long to write. I won't bore you with the mundane details of my life, just thank you all for reading and reviewing, and thank my endlessly patient partner Donnamour1969.**

 **Chapter 4**

Patrick Jane had been on his fair share of bad dates, just like anybody else, at least when he was younger. As he'd grown, he'd streamlined the whole process down until he was able to skip the tiresome dating part altogether. It was just so artificial, feigning interest in her hopes and dreams, pulling her chair out for her, picking up the cheque, and playing at the gentleman he was never going to be. It was just easier to find a woman at a bar, buy her a drink, turn on the charm, and take her home. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am. A steady stream of sex with none of the aggravation.

But tonight was supposed to have been different. For the first time ever, he had wanted to make an experience of the whole night. To really show Teresa Lisbon what she was missing out on. He'd pulled out all the stops, and everything had been going so well. Right up till now.

He reluctantly pulled away, unwilling to meet her eyes.

 _I don't get it. He can do so many random things so well, but this he struggles with? How does this even make sense? Oh God, awkward silence…say something Teresa, damn you!_

"What's wrong?" she asked, gently, and he was taken aback by the dramatic change in her tone. She'd gone from disappointed confusion to sweetness in a millisecond. Why? She'd certainly made her thoughts on that train wreck of a kiss abundantly clear. And then he remembered. In the face of his disappointment (and to be totally honest, utter shock) he'd forgotten she didn't know he knew exactly what she'd been thinking about the kiss. She still thought that he thought that it had been wonderful.

But the frustrating part was that it _should_ have been wonderful. He had the technique, _knew_ he was a good kisser, he had a trail of broken hearts in his wake to prove it, and she was gorgeous and sexy and smart and amazing and he was more attracted to her than he'd been to any woman in a long time, possibly ever. And on top of that, he'd had the inside scoop on how to make it magical for her, or at least he'd thought he did. What had gone wrong?

 _For a guy who sleeps with a different woman every night, I'd have expected him to be a little better at that._ He cringed as new thoughts skittered across her mind. _This does not bode well for the bedroom, Patrick Jane._ A sigh. _And I had such high hopes for you._

Ooh. Double whammy. It took all his self-control not to defend himself, and it was only the knowledge that she'd think he was insane that stopped him. Then he'd really have no shot with her. He had two options here as far as he could see, he could kiss her again and try and save both their evening and his reputation (he figured he had maybe a 50-50 chance of her not punching him in the nose, she had after all, only agreed to one kiss) or he could end things right here and now, get her the hell out of his apartment, and lick his wounds in private.

"So," he said, with all the fake cheer of a retail worker during the holiday season. "How'd I do? Any tips? Pointers? General feedback? You promised honesty, so let me have it."

 _What am I supposed to say? After the night we've had, I was expecting to have to restrain myself from leaping forward and ripping that suit right off him. I never expected this scenario._

He hid a cringe at that one, and tried with all his might not to think of what they could be doing at that very moment, had he not screwed this up so royally.

 _What do I say? Do I lie? I can't lie, he always knows. So do I tell the truth? But I'm not sure if his precious male sensibilities can handle it. But he said he could take it, and I did promise to be honest._

"You did everything right," she said. "But it was like you didn't mean it."

The words came out in sync with her mind thinking them and she seemed just as surprised as he was to hear them said.

 _I couldn't put my finger on it before, but that's exactly it. Did you even_ _ **want**_ _to kiss me? Or just felt like you should because you 'earned' it?_

The temptation to defend himself against that little jab was almost overwhelming, and he cursed this mystifying new power. What was the point of having all this secret knowledge if he couldn't even use it without appearing like a raving lunatic?

He'd wanted to kiss her. Badly wanted to kiss her, and the fact that she thought he'd wanted it purely because he thought she owed him something was nothing short of insulting.

 _I guess I was kind of hoping that you'd mean it. That this night meant_ _ **something**_ _._

It had! He'd had more fun with her tonight than he'd had in years, and if he could turn back time and redo that disastrous kiss, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

 _Because against my better judgment, this meant something to me._

He wanted to scream in frustration. What kind of torture was this, that forced him to listen to her thinking these things about him, arriving completely at the wrong conclusion, without allowing him any means to defend himself? For the first time, this 'gift' he'd been bestowed was feeling like a curse. 

_That was stupid, I suppose. This kind of thing is par for the course for you, and I nearly let myself do the one thing I swore I wouldn't; be another notch on your bedpost._

"This was never about meaning it, though was it?" she asked, out loud this time. "This was all about you proving a point."

She said it with a grim certainty, not anger exactly, but with disappointment, as though she'd been hoping for more from him.

 _I wish you had meant it. I really do. I was beginning to think I was wrong about you, I thought you were changing. You've been so good with Charlotte, and so different around me, but I guess in the end, leopards don't change their spots._

Couldn't she see? He WAS changing. He wouldn't cook up an evening this elaborate for just anyone, and he'd genuinely enjoyed spending time with her. However, there was no way of allaying her concerns without tapping into all those unsaid thoughts.

"I should get going," she said quietly.

"You shouldn't be driving. Let me drive you."

 _Of course I'm not going to drive. Do you honestly think I want to be another road statistic?_

"You've been drinking too. I'll get a cab. No, don't worry," she added as he reached for his phone. "I can hail one in the street. Goodnight Jane."

"Let me walk you out at least."

 _Not a good idea. You've already messed with my mind enough for one night. I need to get home, get out of this dress, clear my head._

She rolled her eyes at him instead. "I think I can handle the elevator ride to the ground floor, but I appreciate your concern." And then, a lot more warmly. "I also appreciate the trouble you went to tonight. I've never been on a date quite like this before."

 _However impure your motivations were, I'll give you this much. You really thought about this. You really tried._

"That was the idea. Though I pictured it ending a little differently."

 _So did I, for a while there._ It was torture as he caught a flash of primal desire in her thoughts, and knew that had he played his cards right they'd probably be heading for the kind of lovemaking that makes you walk funny for days right about now. The disappointment was acute.

He'd struck out before, of course. Rarely, but it happened. But he'd never allowed himself to be upset longer than it took to catch the eye of the next pretty girl. This time however, he'd gladly trade half of his former conquests just for one more shot with her.

"I guess even you can't predict everything, psychic or not." She rose up on the tips of her toes and kissed his cheek. "Goodnight Jane," she said again.

"Sweet dreams, Agent Lisbon."

He held the door open for her, closing his eyes as she brushed past him and one last thought escaped before she shut the door behind her.

 _I think you're holding out on me, I know you can do better than that. But perhaps it's better this way. Attractive, smart, good with kids (no matter what you say) a good cook, a sense of humour AND a good kisser to boot? I wouldn't stand a chance against that. I'd be putty in your hands._

He got a brief glimpse, like a snapshot, of the image in her mind. The two of them walking, hands laced together, like a couple. Laughing. Carefree. A pang of longing drifted across his mind, hers, his, or both of theirs, he couldn't say.

 _You are a complication, Patrick Jane, and a distraction too. And both of those are things I don't need._

He listened as her quiet footsteps grew fainter and fainter, and resisted the urge to beat his head repeatedly against the door out of sheer frustration. He'd planned this evening out to the last minute detail, and it had all fallen apart. He'd failed. And Patrick Jane was not accustomed to failure.

There was only one thing to do.

He arrived back at the downstairs bar, in fresh clothes, with money to burn, and with one single mission: to get laid. There was bound to be plenty of women here ten times more beautiful than Teresa Lisbon, and far less picky. She was hard work, her mind was a constant hive of activity; he felt exhausted just listening to it. Maybe he wasn't looking for a mind at work. Maybe he should just keep things simple.

'Simple' was one word he could use to describe the young lady that he ended up buying a drink for just ten minutes later. Her mind was a lot quieter than Lisbon's, in fact he'd chosen her specifically due to the way she'd been thinking about him when she caught sight of him _(Oh yes, you are gorgeous. I could do with a little fun and you'll do nicely_. _)_ It was all so easy. Her thoughts were of things like tomorrow's business meeting, and what might happen next in the reality show she was watching.

He could have invited her upstairs right away, but annoyingly, memories of his earlier date with Lisbon kept invading his mind, the fun they'd had, the moments they'd shared, and the way he'd wanted almost every moment to grab her and kiss her. This new girl wasn't saying (or thinking) anything even remotely interesting enough to occupy his mind completely. Clearly, he wasn't drunk enough yet.

So they stayed at the bar for a little longer. She talked, and he pretended to listen, nodding his head and making non-committal noises when she paused for breath, complimenting her insincerely every now and then, and she lapped it up. A few seconds of hearing her thoughts made it clear why: she'd just been dumped. Her ex had been cheating on her, and she wanted to get back at him. Privately, he thought she was making a pointless statement to the ex, if he'd cared at all, he wouldn't have cheated on her in the first place, but that was neither here nor there. He needed to forget, and she was a willing, (however recently) single female and that was good enough for him.

He was surprised to hear the gruff tones of the bartender's thoughts, as he handed over their third round.

 _Two in one night? Even for you, Mr Jane, that's pretty low._ Then, _I wonder what happened to the other one? Someone dumped you, for a change? Too bad. She seemed like a classy lady. Quite a departure from your usual taste._ A slight pause. _Present company included._

Jane made a mental note to try and frequent this bar less regularly in future; he wasn't sure he liked how much the bartender had seen and perceived about how he lived his life.

He let his companion finish her drink, before asking her if she'd like to leave with him. Unlike Lisbon, she'd had no qualms whatsoever about accompanying him back upstairs. He didn't bother himself with the niceties this time; they both knew why she was here. The moment the door shut behind them, he was peeling the thin cardigan from her body, her hands were wrestling with his shirt buttons, and biology did the rest.

Simple.

Morning dawned, and his head pounded. Another day, another hangover. There was an arm around his waist and a naked female form pressed against him. He impatiently removed the arm and sat up again, his alcohol-soaked brain screaming in protest at being forced to start working as he pieced together the events of the previous night. Date with Lisbon. Wonderful evening, horrible kiss. Picking up this girl at the bar. Business as usual from there. He shifted away from his bedfellow, scowling as she unconsciously followed in her sleep, clearly enjoying his body heat. Annoyance joined the pounding hangover. This woman had served her purpose, and now he wanted her out of his bed, his apartment and his life as soon as possible.

Impatiently, he nudged her with his foot, and then again, harder, when she failed to stir. She opened her eyes unwillingly, and glared at him.

"What did you do that for?"

 _For Christ's sake, it's 6am. Jerk._

"Time to go," he said, simply. "I've got to get to work."

 _The hell he does. He just doesn't want to deal with the morning-after routine. Lucky he was good in bed or I'd tell him to shove it where the sun doesn't shine._

It was a mark of how sick and miserable he was feeling that the compliment to his sexual prowess barely even registered. He just pulled himself out of the bed.

"You know where the front door is. Shut it behind you on your way out."

 _So no coffee, then? No 'good morning' 'hello' or 'that was fun, let's do this again sometime?'_ He heard her irritating thought, magnified by the hangover bouncing them around his brain.

"That's it?" she asked aloud.

"That's it. Have a nice life."

 _Wow. She must have really hurt you. Nobody gets this bitter just by accident._

"What?" he exclaimed out loud, startling her. He noticed her pull the coverlet tighter around herself, as though trying to shield herself from him.

"I didn't say anything," she sounded wary, almost frightened of him.

 _What a weirdo. No wonder the brunette girl dumped him; this guy's got some serious issues._

'The brunette girl' clearly meant Lisbon, but how could she possibly have known about Lisbon? She couldn't have seen them at the bar unless she'd been sitting there drinking alone for hours on end and she hadn't seemed drunk at all when he'd encountered her.

 _Maybe I should have listened to that bartender. This guy's hot as hell, but I wasn't counting on the crazy._

So that was it, was it? The bartender had decided to play amateur relationship counsellor, and 'save' this 'poor' girl from Patrick Jane the philanderer by warning her about Lisbon. But she'd come home with him anyway, so what did that say about her? What did it say about the bartender's focus on his work if he had the time to interfere in his patron's personal lives? And most importantly, what did it say about himself that he'd even gone down there in the first place? Was he really so emotionally ill adjusted that he could only deal with the rejection of a woman by throwing himself at anything else that moved?

But Teresa Lisbon wasn't just any woman, was she? He'd never met anyone like her before and doubted he would again.

Ugh, it was far too early in the morning for an existential crisis. He groaned once and then made a beeline for the bathroom, as she _finally_ began to get out of the bed and collect her clothes, berating him in her mind all the while.

The shower sobered him up enough for him to dress and arrange his hair into something resembling tidiness. He had a client this morning and needed to look presentable. Who was it today? Ah yes, his postponed appointment with Mrs Wheatley and her dead son. In all fairness, he was running out of new things to tell her about dearly departed Jonathan, he'd already exhausted all the mementos and photographs his mother had in her house, and his widow had refused point-blank to allow him into their home. She said she didn't hold with the 'airy-fairy nonsense' he was peddling and that he should be ashamed of himself for taking advantage of a grieving mother. At the time he'd simply laughed her off the line, but right now, he couldn't help feeling that maybe she'd had a point.

Regardless, without further clues to Jonathan's character, he'd be simply making things up from this point forward. And dear, trusting Mrs Wheatley would keep paying him, he knew. Without her son, she had little else left in her life, and he knew she kept booking him for company as much as anything else, and would keep doing so as long as he allowed it. If he were a better man, he'd tell her that today would be their last session, but he wasn't. As he'd amply proved last night, if given the choice between doing the right thing and gratifying himself, he'd pick himself every time.

He imagined what Lisbon would say if she knew. She'd be furious with him, call him charlatan, bastard, whatever. And she wouldn't be wrong. He could practically hear her thoughts right now; the last few days had been an invaluable insight into the way her mind worked. And while he would never claim to be able to predict all her thoughts, he was pretty sure about this one. She could never abide the misuse of innocent people in any form, a cop through and through. He liked that about her.

In fact, he liked a lot of things about her. Her sense of humour, her fiery temper, her eyes, how she looked in short black dresses, how she still worried about him even though she disliked him most of the time, how she actually _said_ what she was thinking sometimes, how she genuinely cared so much about so many people.

He wasn't used to these warm and fuzzy feelings that rose up inside of him as he pondered on all Teresa Lisbon's very attractive qualities. Quite apart from her physical beauty (though he certainly had no complaints about that) he wanted to know about her hopes and dreams, her thoughts were fascinating, and every moment spent near her was a good one. Her thoughts about him as she'd left the apartment last night had affected him more than any other criticism he'd received from a woman.

What did this mean? Why should her opinion carry such weight? They were the loosest possible interpretation of friends, had only recently been able to find a way to work together without infuriating one another. Their date had ended on a bad note; perhaps they weren't compatible in a romantic way. Perhaps they should just stick to the status quo.

His cell phone alerted him to a text message. Lisbon. Of course. Maybe she was the psychic one here.

 **Just got a call from Social Services. Charlotte's asking for you. Can you go see her today?**

Charlotte. He couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face as he thought of his little friend. He never would have predicted he could be so fond of a child, but then he seriously doubted there were many four-year-olds around as clever as Charlotte. And even less with the same odd psychic ability that he seemed to have developed. If only she were a little older, it would have been a relief to have somebody to confide in, but she had already lost her father at the hands of her uncle, and was separated from her mother. She didn't need his problems too.

 **Got a client this morning, but I can go in the afternoon** he texted back.

 **Thank you. I'm worried about her.**

Of course she was. A young girl who'd had her whole world turned upside down, who would relate to that better than Teresa Lisbon?

 **Want to come?**

It would give him an excuse to see her, with Charlotte as the buffer. It would quiet some of her anxiety about the child's welfare, perhaps give her just a little peace in that busy mind of hers, to see for herself that Charlotte was all right.

 **I don't know. You're the only one she seems to trust.**

 **She'll be pleased to see you, she's an excellent judge of character, you know.**

 **Are you sure? She seems to think you're pretty great.**

He was surprised at the relief that coursed through him at the playful jab. If she still felt comfortable enough to tease him, maybe he hadn't completely ruined things between them. Maybe they could be proper friends, and maybe if he was really lucky, he might have another chance at wooing her. She was worth waiting for.

 **I'll come get you from the CBI at 3.** The worst of his hangover ought to be behind him by then, with luck she need never know about it.

 **OK. See you then.**

Suddenly, his day was looking a whole lot brighter. His head even pounded less at the prospect of his two favourite girls again.

 _His girls._ Was it wrong that he kind of liked the sound of that?

When he arrived at Mrs Wheatley's penthouse apartment, she took one look at him and immediately began fussing over him.

 _Look at him, the poor dear, I've never seen him in such a state. He obviously hasn't recovered from that horrible bombing incident._

He was urged to sit down while she shuffled back to the kitchen to make him a cup of tea (she did this every time he visited, and had yet to master exactly the way he liked it.)

"It's all right Mrs Wheatley, please don't trouble yourself. There's no need to wait on me."

"Don't be silly Patrick, you've been coming here for months, taking time out of your busy schedule just to help me talk to my Jonathan. It's the least I can do."

She made it sound like he'd been doing it purely out of the goodness of his heart, and that the sizable cheque she handed him at the end of every visit had no bearing on the matter at all. She clearly thought he was a good, and honest man. If only she'd seen him a few hours ago, she'd know better.

There was a clatter from the kitchen, and he suddenly had the horrible thought that she might have slipped and fallen so he left the cushy armchair and followed her into the kitchen, where she was reaching for a tin of teabags high on a top shelf. A tin of coffee lying on the floor had clearly been knocked off beforehand and made the noise.

"Here, let me get that for you." Scoundrel and womanizer he might well be, but he wasn't about to let an old woman injure herself in pursuit of a cup of tea he didn't even want.

"Thank you dear, you're such a kind boy."

 _My daughter-in-law says you're a fraud who's only after my money, but she just doesn't believe in your gift. If she could only see you work your magic, she'd understand."_

Ten minutes later, tea made, they were back in the living room, sitting across from each other at the little table bearing the photograph of Jonathan that they used during all their sessions. He smiled at her encouragingly as she shifted nervously like she always did when they 'talked' to her son.

"OK, you know the drill," he said gently. "Take my hands."

She did.

 _Still no ring. I'll never understand why he isn't married. Such a handsome boy, and so clever, he really should have someone to take care of him. He shouldn't be alone._

"Close your eyes."

She obeyed, and her thoughts immediately turned to flashes of memories of her lost son, from his childhood, to his wedding day, not so long ago, before the car accident that had cruelly snatched him away from her.

They sat in silence for a long while. Patrick had always claimed this time was an opportunity to call Jonathan's soul from the spirit world, and allow him time to cross the realms to a plane where he could let his voice be known, which she had accepted without question. The reality was far different; of course, he had merely been planning what to say about whatever trinket she had given him that day. But today, there were no aids; he would be flying solo. He waited for inspiration to strike.

And he waited.

And waited.

And waited….

"Is he here?" asked Mrs Wheatley, fearfully.

 _Why is it taking so long? Where is he? Why can't Patrick find him?_

"Patience," he said, soothingly. "The spirits don't work on the same schedule as we do, you know that."

"But it's never taken this long before. Why isn't he coming? He's never kept me waiting like this before."

 _Please Patrick, tell me that I haven't really lost him. He's all I have, if he goes away I won't have anything left._ He felt her hands grip his even tighter and her thoughts turn into a repeated chant. _Jonathan, where are you?_

As her desperation for connection with her son became clear, a guilt Jane had never felt before began clawing at him. All this time, he'd kept his conscience clear by claiming to be helping this woman, but instead, he'd been enabling her to cling to the memory of her son and refuse to accept his passing. She had to let Jonathan go, and find a way to move on with her life, a reason to keep existing other than 'talking' to him through means of Jane. This wasn't healthy. This wasn't _right_.

But he couldn't very well tell her now that he'd been making the whole thing up, she'd either be furious, or she simply wouldn't believe him. If he completely shattered the illusion he'd created around himself, this poor old woman would probably never trust anyone again, and lead the rest of her life alone. He couldn't be responsible for that.

He would lie to her just one more time, but this time it would be for _her_ benefit, not for his. If only Lisbon could see him now.

He drew in a sudden intake of breath, and heard her thoughts home in on it; this was one of his usual 'signals' that he'd made contact with the other side. Other psychics tended to flail their arms around and generally make fools of themselves, but he preferred a more subtle approach.

She bought it. He knew she would. She wanted to believe.

"He's here," he told her, in a deep voice. "He's wearing a green shirt that he says is important to you."

"It was his father's," she whispered, half-crying, half-laughing. "My Michael used to live in that shirt."

Jane had expected as much. He'd spotted it on a hanger on his last visit here, and made an educated guess at the identity of its owner.

"He says to tell you that you should take up golf again. He says you should never have given it up."

Photo on the mantelpiece, of a younger, happier, Mrs Wheatley swinging a golf club through the air, provided the basis for that 'reading.' He sincerely hoped that she would heed 'Jonathan's' advice on this one; she needed some joy in her life.

But now came the tricky part. "He also says, that this will be the last time he speaks to you," Jane said, gently.

Mrs Wheatley's thoughts, which had been pleasantly occupied with recalling a particularly tough tournament she had once won, came back down to earth with a thud.

"What?"

"He says that by hanging around, he's realised that he's only making things harder for you, and he's sorry that he's dragged out your suffering through his own selfishness. He wants you to know that he loves you, and that it's okay for you to get on with your life."

 _No. This can't be true; I can't be losing my baby all over again. He can't leave me here all alone, what will I do without him? I've been a mother so long I don't know how to stop. Please, Jonathan, please don't make me stop._

"He says to tell you goodbye, and that he'll see you on the other side, but suggests that you don't get there too soon."

"No!" Mrs Wheatley flung herself forward so suddenly that Jane feared she might unseat herself. She clung to his hands, looked deeply into his eyes, as tears started to form in her own. "Patrick, please, do something. I can't let him do this. Tell him to stay. Tell him anything; just make him change his mind. Patrick, I'm begging you. Please, please!"

"I'm sorry, Mrs Wheatley," he said, and meant it, he really was sorry to be causing her this pain, but it was for her own good. He should never have let things get this far. "He's gone."

 _No. He can't be gone. He can't have left me. Bring him back! Bring him back! He needs me; I'm his mother, he needs me, he needs me…._

Her thoughts trailed off, into silence, as she sobbed quietly into her hands.

"I can't believe he's gone," she whispered, seemingly to herself. She looked at up him, the last bit of hope shining in her eyes. "Can you bring him back?"

Jane slowly shook his head, and she began to sob afresh, throwing herself against his chest with a wail. And he held her there, not even caring that she was getting tears and rouge all over his brand new jacket. He deserved no better. He had driven this grieving woman to the point of near insanity, and for what? To make money that he didn't have anyone to spend on. To buy a fancy apartment nobody ever stayed in, and a state-of-the-art kitchen he never cooked in, just to say he had one.

He left Mrs Wheatley's apartment an hour later with a brand new lease on life. He _was_ a scoundrel. And it had only taken a mysterious psychic ability to help him see it. Lisbon of course, had always known. Dear Lisbon. He didn't deserve to so much as be breathing the same air as Teresa Lisbon, let alone doing all the wicked things to her that he'd been thinking about last night, and yet he wanted that more than anything in the world.

He was more determined than ever to win her heart.

A/N: Donnamour is up next! Thanks for reading.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Waterbaby and I thank you again for your kind reviews. And a reminder, for those who were a little put off by Jane's treatment of his one-night-stand in the last chapter: remember, this is NOT the Jane from the show. This is the Jane inspired by his fugue state, the Jane in the pilot, who was an uncaring conman. You're not really supposed to like him yet. But don't worry, Lisbon will certainly work hard to redeem him. But it would be totally unrealistic if he didn't have some minor backsliding, wouldn't it?

And now…

 **Chapter 5**

From his prized collection of classic cars, Jane chose to pick up Lisbon in his eggshell blue Citroen. It was one he seldom drove, though it was actually his favorite—his very first car. Of course, he'd conned it from an old woman when he was eighteen, but one can't totally erase one's past, can one? he reasoned as he drove out of the rented garage. The car had been her late husband's, and when Jane had seen it parked behind the carnival tent for The Boy Wonder, he'd fallen in love with it. So, when she came into the tent for a private reading, Jane had "contacted" her husband and expressed his ghostly wishes that he wouldn't rest in peace until she gave the car away to a deserving young man. It had been a simple jump in her highly suggestable mind to decide that it should, of course, be given to The Boy Wonder himself. And Jane assured her that her husband had successfully passed on through the Pearly Gates of Heaven.

But Jane had long ago suppressed any guilt he'd initially felt some twenty-five years ago, and the only reason he didn't drive it much anymore was that it wasn't quite as stylish and modern as he'd like his image to appear. Still, it was one of the only things he was secretly nostalgic about (that, and his mother's Fiestaware), so he'd held onto it. He'd had some glorious times as a youth in that car.

Today, as he waited outside the CBI building for Lisbon to emerge, he couldn't wait to see her reaction to the quirky little car. Maybe the unconventional vehicle would humanize him a little in her eyes.

She emerged five minutes after she'd received his text and she looked around the parking lot first in search of his usual red Porsche 911 convertible. When her eyes alighted on the Citroen, and Jane waved through the windshield, she frowned. He got out of the car to open the door for her.

"What a piece of junk," she said uncharitably.

"It made the Kessel Run in less than…nevermind." He trailed off as she made a face of confusion, but her expression belied her thoughts. She slid into the seat in an attempt to hide it.

 _Star Wars fan? Well, that's a point in his favor._

She was screwing with him. Maybe things weren't totally hopeless after all. As he walked around again to the driver's side, a hopeful grin returned to his face.

She buckled herself in with the old-fashioned lap belt, muttering in her mind about the importance of updating safety features and hoping she wouldn't die inside this low-slung tin can.

"Don't worry about your safety," he said, fastening his own belt, "she's safe as houses."

"Hm," she said noncommittally, though in her mind she highly doubted it.

"I thought you'd be impressed with my more modest mode of transportation."

Two dark eyebrows shot up. "You were trying to impress me?" _You should have come in a Humvee._

He frowned. Would he ever be able to predict this woman's reactions?

But then her thoughts focused on the implications of his words. _He was trying to_ _ **impress**_ _me._ He felt her gaze rest on him, but he made himself stare straight ahead. Maybe he'd been on the right track after all.

He drove onto the city street, heading toward the freeway entrance that would take them to the Sacramento County Child Protective Services Center.

He shrugged. "I'm turning over a new leaf. Changing my priorities." He hoped he sounded confident, but on the inside he was as uncertain as he'd been since the first time his father had put him in his Boy Wonder costume and shoved him onto the stage.

"And what's with the Jekyll and Hyde routine? More modest car. Asking for criticism from a woman." She paused, assessing his usual expensive suit, surprised to find it lacking a key component. "And no _tie_? Jeeze, you really _are_ serious." Not even he could have missed the dripping sarcasm.

"Baby steps, Teresa. Now be careful; you never know when Mr. Hyde might make a sudden appearance." He waggled his eyebrows ominously.

She smirked in dry amusement. "Frankly, I'm more surprised to see it was Dr. Jekyll who picked me up today. But you didn't answer my question."

"Well, this morning I sort of had an epiphany," he said, his eyes still on the traffic.

Her mind was frustratingly blank as she waited for him to continue. So, once again there would be no guidance as to how his words would truly be received.

"I'm thinking of a career change," he said, chickening out at the last minute. He'd planned to say he was going to try to win her good regard, but after the disastrous kiss of the night before, he found himself uncharacteristically frightened of rejection. He'd never been rejected by a woman in his life, and the feeling was both surreal and highly unpleasant.

"To what?"

"Maybe I'll look into getting my detective's license." The thought had just occurred to him, and he'd recklessly thrown it out there.

He'd shocked a laugh out of her. "Seriously?"

His mouth tightened, as did his grip on the steering wheel.

 _Oh my God. He_ _ **is**_ _serious._

"I'm sorry, Jane. That was just the very last thing I thought you'd say."

"That's me. Always full of surprises."

 _Now I've actually hurt his feelings._

She reached a tentative hand over to touch his arm. He felt her warmth radiate pleasurably through his body.

"Tell me more about this idea of yours," she said gently.

He was continually struck and humbled by her deep compassion.

"It's just a thought," he hedged. "I uh, like figuring out mysteries, solving crimes. And can you imagine an actual psychic working on your case? They'd be lining up down the block." The idea took hold of him, and he became excited that this prospect could actually work. He wouldn't have to con anyone, wouldn't have to pretend to commune with the spirits. This gift he'd been given could work for the good of others, but he could still be raking in the dough. It was the perfect compromise.

Her hand abruptly dropped from his arm, and he grieved its absence. "There's no such thing as psychics, Jane. Wouldn't that be trading one con for another?"

"It wouldn't be a con, exactly. You know how good I am at solving cases for the CBI." He shouldn't have brought up being psychic; that's what she was hung up on, of course.

In her mind she supposed that he'd proven his skills, but she still couldn't shake the idea that he'd still just be a scam artist, albeit with a different label.

 _Dr. Jekyll. Yeah, right,_ she thought.

"Well, I admire your desire to change," she said politely.

He glanced over at her, saw her face, carefully blank of emotion. He didn't speak of it again, but listened to her thoughts the rest of the short drive, hating how much she pitied him, how she thought that in his desire to change, he was conning himself most of all.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

 _You're sad,_ was the first thing Charlotte thought upon seeing Jane. He knew his welcoming smile at seeing the beautiful child had fooled her not at all.

 _It's nothing,_ he shot back, carefully schooling his thoughts.

"How are you doing today, Charlotte?" Lisbon asked. "Are they taking care of you? Are you getting enough to eat, toys to play with?" She looked around the plain, coldly-decorated room where Charlotte sat on one of ten cots.

"Yes," she said. "But I want my mommy and daddy."

 _That poor little girl,_ Lisbon was thinking.

Lisbon shot Jane a look, and he shook his head, willing her not to bring her true thoughts to mind about the status of her parents. She felt sorry for Charlotte too, and Jane's kinship with the girl grew exponentially.

"How about some card tricks?" he asked, seeming to remove a deck from thin air.

"You can't fool me with those either," Charlotte said cockily, remembering his failure with the coins.

"You're pretty sassy for an anemone," said Jane, with obvious admiration.

"That's what my mommy says. What's an amemononone?"

Jane grinned at her mangling of the difficult word. "A sea urchin, your watery equivalent."

"I'll just go talk with the supervisor," Lisbon said, seeing the child was in good hands. _Poor girl. She's such a cute little thing too…_

When they were alone, Charlotte reverted to communicating with her mind.

 _Is Miss Lisbon being mean to you?_

 _No. Not really. She just doesn't like me as much as I like her._

 _Yes, she does. It's like what Mommy says about Jacob at preschool. When he kicks me, he's probably being mean because he doesn't know how to tell me he likes me._

But Jane ignored her childish words of wisdom and pounced upon what had caught his immediate attention.

 _Where can I find this Jacob kid, so I can kick his little ass._

Charlotte giggled. "You're not supposed to say that word," she said aloud.

"I merely thought it; there's a difference."

"Not when you mean it."

Jane's unreasonable fury dissolved as he looked at the girl. Had he ever had a child, he would have wanted her to be just like her. Before he could help himself, he wondered wryly if he'd met Charlotte's mother before—say, about five years ago?

Charlotte looked confused at his wayward thought, and he hurriedly pushed it aside.

 _You're too smart for your little britches._

He fanned out the cards on her bed. "Now, keep your eye on the Queen of Hearts…"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane and Lisbon said their goodbyes to Charlotte, the girl clinging heartbreakingly to Jane as she hugged him and cried. Lisbon worriedly stopped him in the parking lot. He was still shaken by how much he didn't want to leave the little girl in that cold, soulless place.

"You okay?" she asked, noting his paleness and tight lips.

"No," he admitted. "When can we get her the hell out of there?"

Lisbon sighed. "I just got word from the DA that they're charging Mrs. Kincaid with accessory to murder, kidnapping, and child endangerment. She was apparently in on the whole thing, having an affair with her brother-in-law. With her uncle in custody too, the state is looking for Charlotte's other relatives. They're not having any luck."

"Dammit," he muttered. "That woman should be horsewhipped!" Then an idea occurred to him, so daring and impulsive, it set his heart pounding. But he knew in his heart it was the right thing the moment he said it out loud: "I'll take her. Give her to me."

"That's kind of you, Jane, but you're a single father, in sort of a well, _shady_ occupation. I'm not sure if a judge—"

"You could vouch for me, Teresa. I told you I was trying to change."

"Maybe so, but given your previous behavior, Protective Services might think you were after her for her inheritance."

Jane frowned, his anger returning tenfold. "I don't need any of her goddamn money!" Then, he listened to her thoughts, her doubts. "Is that what you really think of me?"

He saw the truth in her eyes, heard it in her mind. "Jesus Christ," he swore. He walked away from her then, aimlessly at first, until he found himself marching toward the fenced in playground at the side of the building. He fumbled with the gate latch and let himself in. It was empty now, and he moved to a bench and sat down heavily, his face in his hands.

He heard Lisbon's voice in his head long before she sat down beside him.

 _He really cares about that little girl. How can a man like that be all bad?_

"I'm sorry, Jane. What would you do to show a judge you could take care of her?" she asked.

He stilled.

"Money isn't an object."

"Money isn't really the issue, Jane," she said softly. "Look at your apartment, for instance. It's very nice and modern, but it's well, _cold_ —not very family friendly, and I don't think there's a park anywhere near your building. Plus, there's a bar on the bottom floor, for God's sake. How does that look? Not to mention the women you have parading through your life—no more threesomes, that's for sure."

He looked up at her, surprised to hear her even mention his sex life, even though he'd heard the same words in her head. He sat back against the bench, chuckling in spite of himself. "Well, you got me there. A child would definitely cramp my style."

"And you'd have to stop drinking," she said seriously. _No little girl deserves a daddy who drinks._

So, he'd been right about her all along, had guessed she'd had to step up and be a caretaker to her younger siblings because her dad was an alcoholic. For once, he felt no satisfaction in being right.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, sighing heavily. "I'm in no position to be a parent." He stared off at the empty swings, swaying forlornly in the light breeze. "My life is a mess."

"Join the club Jane," she admitted with a small smile. "I could no more be a parent right now than you could."

"You'd have to give up your own orgies, eh?" he said slyly.

She jabbed him in the ribs with a small, pointy elbow. He laughed and groaned at the same time, rubbing the place he knew would show a bruise tomorrow.

"All right, I get it," he said in resignation. "But promise me you'll help me find her a good foster family. I don't trust those government types to see to her needs."

"She may still have a relative, or maybe even a godparent. Those wealthy families usually see to that stuff."

"It's hell being an orphan," he said empathetically.

"Tell me about it."

He looked at her, the late afternoon sunlight hitting the dark red highlights in her mahogany hair. Her eyes were cool jade, and her adorably crooked smile tugged at his heart. Before he could stop himself, he leaned over and pressed his lips briefly to hers.

"Thank you," he whispered against her mouth, his eyes smiling gently into hers.

 _Oh my God. Did that just happen?_ He liked that he could still turn her thoughts to mush, despite their disastrous first kiss.

"For—for what? I sat here and crushed your dreams."

"You made me face reality. I don't know many people who'd care enough to do that for me."

"I don't believe that."

But he knew from her head she _did_ believe it. She'd had enough of a glimpse of his life in the few months they'd known each other to see he had no one special or particularly caring in his life. She was just trying to spare his feelings again.

"You don't ever have to lie to me, Teresa," he told her, "I am perfectly aware of what I am."

"First step to changing is admitting you have a problem."

"The first of twelve?"

She laughed. "No." Then she paused. "Well, unless you want it to be."

"Not today, because I was about to ask you if we could go for a drink. I could really use one."

"It's not even five yet. Technically, I'm still on duty."

Then he got an inspiration. "You know what sounds even better than a drink?"

 _Two drinks?_ She thought wryly.

"What?" she asked aloud.

"A chocolate milkshake."

"You're kidding me?" But she was smiling. She liked this side of him, and the secret knowledge warmed him from head to toe.

"I never kid about ice cream and chocolate, Agent Lisbon," he said with feigned gravity. "And it seems like it's a double-chocolate kind of day."

He stood and reached for her hand. She looked up into his blue-green eyes, sparkling down at her, his golden curls tousled by the light breeze.

 _How could I possibly resist that?_

She put her hand in his.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

After their surprisingly delicious milkshake in a local greasy spoon Lisbon would heretofore not have been caught dead in, things between them began to change. They were looking at each other in different ways, and even Minelli noticed. The tension between consultant and agent had dissipated substantially, and when Jane was asked in on another case—a murder this time—Minelli actually saw them smiling at each other. After Jane solved the case with even more ease than usual, they convened to the break room for closed case donuts after an exhausting all-nighter (it was too early for pizza).

When Jane caught the older man eyeing them suspiciously, he grinned, then, uncannily, seemed to read his mind.

"Yes, you're right. Things _are_ different around here, Virgil. Agent Lisbon believes I'm actually psychic."

Lisbon, in the process of ruining a good cup of coffee with too many sugars, snorted softly. _In your dreams._

"See," Jane continued, "she just thought to herself: _in your dreams."_

Her eyes flew up to his in shock. She stopped stirring.

 _Did I say that out loud?_

"No," said Jane, "you didn't say that out loud. I read your mind."

Minelli, listening in amusement, poured his own cup and reached into the bakery box on the counter for a cruller, then stood aside to watch the show.

Lisbon set down her spoon and crossed her arms defiantly. "Lucky guesses. What am I thinking right now?"

He pretended to have to try hard to read her, narrowing his eyes, touching his temples dramatically. "You're thinking… _he'll never guess that I accidentally wore two different socks this morning._ "

She gasped audibly.

Minelli looked at Lisbon, one eyebrow up. "Well, is that true, Lisbon?"

Jane nodded toward her feet. "Show 'em."

She bent and pulled up her pants legs high enough that they could see that the socks peeping over her boots were indeed different colors—one navy blue, one black.

Jane shrugged, then sipped at his tea. "An easy mistake, Lisbon. I've done the same myself."

"That's—" she began, letting loose of the black fabric of her slacks.

"Incredible? It is, isn't it?"

 _How the hell is he doing that?_

"I'm telling you, Teresa, I'm psychic. There's nothing you can keep from me, no secret I can't lift from your amazingly intricate brain."

"Parlor tricks," she said, annoyed, and maybe a little frightened that he might actually have this power. She rooted around the box for a bear claw, but frowned when she had to settle on an apple fritter. _Who the hell took it? Everyone knows I get first dibs on the bear claws._

"Rigsby took your bear claw," he offered helpfully.

"Stop that," she said. _I'm not too tired to punch you in the nose._

Jane tsked, then met her eyes gleefully. "Violence is the last resort of people who don't know how to use their words effectively, Agent Lisbon."

 _I can think of a few words…_

And she proceeded to cuss him in her mind like a sailor. He was laughing by the time she thought of a particularly creative mash-up of her three favorite expletives, her annoyance increasing by the moment as he laughed at her when of course he couldn't possibly know what she was thinking.

Neither of them noticed as Minelli grinned to himself and left the break room, coffee and donut in hand.

For Jane's part, he knew he must have been punch drunk with exhaustion to be showing his hand like this. If she knew he really was psychic, she'd be too afraid to go out with him again. But this past week had been incredible with her, and they hadn't even kissed or touched since that moment on the playground. There was an easiness between them now, an unspoken truce; even a friendship of sorts. Jane had never really been friends with a woman; he hadn't thought it possible. But it seemed, as they worked closely together on this case, that he just hadn't found the right woman in the past, hadn't found someone with whom he'd _cared_ to be friends.

What's more, he hadn't had a drink all week, and sex with other women had been the last thing on his mind. The idea of sex with Lisbon, however, was never far from his thoughts, so much so that he dreamed of her nightly, daydreamed about it when he watched her sit at her desk, tapping the end of her pen unconsciously against her lower lip. And through it all, he remained fascinated by her mind, by her thoughts of concern for the victim and his family, for the logical, brilliant way she did police work. He was enthralled by her in every way, giddy with the hope that she might see him as a partner outside the bullpen of the CBI.

But after the incident with Minelli in the break room, she managed to mostly watch her thoughts around him, and he would only catch occasional fleeting thoughts of her admiration for his uncanny perception and the cut of his suit. He did catch her once admiring his ass (in her mind), and the satisfaction of that made him smile on and off for the rest of the day.

When he solved the case by reading the mind of their main suspect, he almost wished he hadn't. Now he'd have no excuse to hang around her until he was called in to consult again. Minelli gave the team the afternoon off, and as Jane walked with Lisbon out of the CBI building, he decided to take a chance.

"What are you doing later?" he asked her in what he hoped was a casual tone. His pounding heart, however, was telling a different story.

She glanced at him sidelong, stopping before her Mustang in its usual spot in the parking lot.

 _He's going to ask me out. Oh, crap._

"You mean after I put in a load of laundry and sleep for about ten hours?"

"If you just snuck in eight, we'd have time for a late dinner."

 _God, what do I say? This can't be a good idea._

He tried not to be offended by her hesitation; she certainly had every right to doubt him, after their first day ended so terribly.

He stepped closer to her, touched her hand, felt the usual thrill. Her eyes shot up to his.

"What do you _want_ , Teresa? I really would like to know." He thought absently of hypnotizing her into accepting his offer, but he found he wanted her to want him on her own. But he was pleasantly surprised when her deepest desires began to pop into her head like he'd conjured them there.

 _I want dinner at a beautiful restaurant. I want to go to a play or the symphony or a hockey game. I want to know what it's like to kiss someone and have it be the most magical thing either of us has ever experienced. I want to make love on a tropical beach. I want an honorable man who respects me and my work and my choices. I want picnics and flowers and a church wedding and children. I want it all._

"I want it all," she said simply.

He smiled at her, his eyes softly regarding her, pondering the simple dreams of a woman who deserved everything she ever wanted and more.

"That's not too much to ask," he said sincerely, his voice a little gruff. "How 'bout we start with dinner-wherever you want."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dinner waited until the next night, when both of them were well rested and they could get an earlier start. He picked her up at her apartment in a limo. It had taken him the better part of the day to make arrangements, from bribing the restaurant manager to accept his last-minute reservation, to buying tickets, to having his best suit cleaned. He pulled out all the stops, planning their date with more attention to detail than he'd ever attempted, sparing no expense. He didn't want her to feel like he was set on seducing her (though he certainly wouldn't turn her down should she ask) He merely wanted to fulfill every wish she had imagined, and then some.

When he knocked on her door that evening, it took a long time for her to answer. Her Mustang was in the parking lot, so he knew she was home. He wondered if maybe she was in the bathroom doing some last-minute primping. He smiled at the thought of her going to as much trouble with her appearance for him as he had for her. He smoothed down his silver silk tie, held the nosegay of gardenias at the ready. He'd pounded three times before he began to get worried. She wasn't answering his text either.

"Teresa!"

He was about to pick the lock when he heard the turn of the deadbolt and the slide of the chain. Lisbon appeared before him in heather gray sweatpants and a ratty blue robe. Her face was pale, her hair hanging in limp, matted hanks. He hadn't thought it possible, but the woman looked like crap.

"Oh, God, Jane, I'm sorry," she said. "I was feeling so bad this morning, I called in sick. I thought if I had a nap I'd feel better, but I guess I overslept, so I couldn't stop you from coming all the way over—excuse me!"

She grabbed her mouth and ran toward what he assumed was the bathroom, leaving him hanging in the open doorway. Jane sighed, hung his head, and walked back to the waiting limo.

"Turns out I won't be needing your services tonight," he told the driver. "Go on home. I'll call a cab later." He handed him a generous tip and went back to Lisbon's door.

"The best laid plans of psychics and men…" he paraphrased ironically to himself.

He stepped inside her apartment, closing the door behind him. He could hear the sounds of her violent retching all the way down the hall.

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! More coming from waterbaby soon!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** **Hello friends and readers, waterbaby here.** **I hope you've been enjoying the story so far. I enjoyed writing this one a lot. I really hope you like it.**

 **Chapter 6**

The noise of retching, coughing and general misery informed him of the precise location of the bathroom at the far end of Lisbon's modest apartment. Much as he felt he ought to go in there and soothe her, he knew from personal experience that the last thing a vomiting person needed or wanted was an audience. He'd certainly worshipped at the altar of the porcelain god enough times in his life to know that much.

He supposed the polite thing to do would have been to return home for the evening and leave her in peace, but one look at her had told him that she was in no fit state to take care of herself. Normally so professional and put together, he'd never seen her so unkempt, and despite her claim to have been sleeping most of the day, she looked exhausted. There were shadows under her eyes and when she'd answered the door she'd looked as though she was ready to drop there and then.

Of course, he was disappointed that once again, his plans to please her had gone awry, but, quite apart from the wasted money and favours he'd had to call in, it was the loss of time he wanted to spend with her that caused him the most disquiet. He'd been so looking forward to showing her more of the 'good' side of him and to treat her the way she ought to be treated. Just to spend some time with her away from the prying eyes of Minelli and all the other gossipy agents of the CBI would be a treat, but yet again, the universe had other plans.

Perhaps this was his punishment for his years of conning and scheming, to have this incredible woman dangled tantalisingly in front of him _just_ out of reach. He probably deserved it.

Down the hall, the toilet flushed, and running water indicated that she was probably brushing her teeth. She'd be emerging from the bathroom in a moment; if he left now, he could still leave her be, and perhaps check back in on her in the morning. On the other hand, it would be irresponsible of him not to make sure she was all right, perhaps make her something to eat (provided she could keep it down) and do what he could to make her feel better, even if it was just to hold her hair back as she emptied the contents of her stomach. The thought was not pleasant, he'd never been one to cope well with sickness or injury but he knew she had no family or close friends in the area to do this for her, and the thought of her being alone when she was this unwell was even more distasteful. He at least wanted to offer her the option of company, but if she preferred to wallow in her misery on her own, he'd be okay with that too. Whatever made her happier.

He shook his head slightly as the bathroom door opened. Who would have guessed that this woman could have turned him into such a softy? Six months ago, he would have been disgusted with himself right about now. Men who let themselves become whipped over women were fools, he'd once thought, suckers who let themselves get taken advantage of because they couldn't resist a nice smile or a pretty pair of eyes. Now he could kind of see their point. Teresa Lisbon's jade green eyes were a thing of exquisite beauty.

She staggered out of the bathroom, and he quickly amended that thought. _Most of the time_ Lisbon's jade green eyes were a thing of exquisite beauty, today they looked red-rimmed and dull from exhaustion. And confusion, he noticed, as they settled on him and registered his continued presence.

"Jane? I thought you left. I heard the door shut."

 _What the hell is he still doing here?_

"I was just telling our driver that we wouldn't be needing him after all. He seemed pretty pleased to have the night off."

 _Driver? What did we have a driver for? Did he hire a horse and carriage or something? I hate those things, they're so tacky._

Well, that was very telling. She wanted to be romanced, to be wined and dined, but she didn't like cheesy, over-the-top gestures. Good to know. He filed it away for their next (probably doomed to failure) date.

"A driver?" she asked, aloud. "Isn't that a little excessive, just for a dinner?"

"Who said it was just dinner?"

 _There was more? Oh now I feel terrible. If this was anything like our first date, he probably set up lots of things and me and my goddamn stomach flu had to go and ruin everything._

Her mind seemed to stutter on the phrase "our first date" and then play it back a few times, with different inflections, apparently to test out how it sounded. Personally, he thought it sounded great, like their _first_ date meant there would be a second, and hopefully more beyond.

"This was going to be like our first date, only better," he said, using her words. "Dinner was only the beginning."

At his words, her mind began to conjure up images of possible things they could have been doing, some correct, some way off base, and he was amused at the scope of her imagination. Most of the things she was thinking of would need a great deal more money than he'd had on hand and a lot more pre-planning than just a couple of days, but it was quite flattering that she thought him capable of doing almost anything. But then, she always had. It was his methodology that she was prone to question, never his results. She did have faith in him, in her own way, and the thought was heartening.

"I'm sorry, Jane," she said, sincerely. "I really am. I was even kind of looking forward to this one, too."

The would-be-casual tone would have been enough of a red flag even without his extra mind-reading powers, but with the benefit of said powers he was able to grasp the full meaning of what she had almost said.

 _Oh Lord why did You do this to me today, of all days? I bought a new dress especially for tonight, and just look at him, he's always hot, but tonight he looks like he just stepped off a magazine cover, and he could have been all mine. Other women would have envied me when we walked into the room, just once in my life I want to know what that feels like._

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling at her secret desire to parade him around like a trophy. He probably should have been offended, but instead he found the idea oddly charming. It wouldn't be unreasonable to suggest that he would be something of a "catch" (at least in a purely aesthetic manner) and worthy of showing off. Besides, if by some miracle he was ever able to call her his girlfriend, _he_ didn't intend to be subtle about it.

Her thoughts raced on.

 _He was never supposed to see me like this. I look like death warmed over and he's never going to want to look at me again, much less suggest another date. Which you'd think I would be happy about because he's a womanizer and a liar and no good for me, but Lord You couldn't even give me that? This is just not fair._

"So was I," he admitted. "A lot. And now I'm really disappointed that I'm not going to get to see that new dress you bought for the occasion."

Beyond her usual disbelief and mild panic that he had been able to read her mind, her thoughts turned (as he had been aiming for) to the dress in question. He only got a quick glimpse of it, but from what he perceived, it was short, and red. And would have looked stunning on her. It seemed they were both to be denied a treat tonight. Life could be a bitch.

"One day, I'm going to find out how you do that," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "It has to be some sort of trick. And when I find out, I'm going to tell everyone else how to do it too so we won't need you anymore."

"Aw, you'd miss me if I was gone," he said, cheerfully.

 _He's right. I would._

Yet again, that warmth he'd come to associate only with her began to spread through his body. How strange it was that a woman could make him feel like this without sleeping with him or even touching him, but just by being herself. He was so busy feeling his feelings he almost didn't notice her sway unsteadily on her feet and have to shuffle a little to regain her balance. He immediately felt guilty as she managed to right herself again; she should be resting not standing around here in the hall. She might catch a chill. As if to prove it, she was taken over by a nasty coughing fit that had her bent double at the waist and shuddering.

"Whoa, I think it's time I got you in bed," he said, when it had subsided enough for her to pay attention to what he was saying. Her mind froze on the double entendre, and he too, quickly aimed to get past the awkward moment. "Come on."

It was a mark of how ill she was feeling that she allowed him to guide her down the hall without complaint, even leaning against him a little as they shuffled toward the lamplit room he took to be her bedroom. There wasn't much in it in the way of knickknacks or personal touches, just a queen bed, a chest of drawers and a small end table. The only luxury she seemed to have allowed herself was a soft white coverlet on the bed and a surprisingly large amount of pillows.

 _When I imagined him carrying me to bed, this wasn't exactly how I pictured it._ The thought floated sleepily across her mind as he helped her under the covers. He made sure she was comfortable and fluffed her pillows for her as she let out a long sigh and closed her eyes.

He too had imagined his first foray into her bedroom to go a little differently; certainly nobody would have been sleeping, that was for sure. As she settled down under the coverlet he slipped out to the kitchen to get her a glass of water. All that vomiting must be dehydrating her, and that would only make her feel worse.

He returned with a tall glass of water and some aspirin, which he had _not_ found by going through her drawers, thank you very much. The blister pack had been lying next to the sink near a half-drunk cup of coffee she must have made hours ago and then forgot about. She was lying on her side, eyes still closed but not sleeping yet; he could tell because he could hear her thinking.

 _Oh I feel like dying, I could sleep for a year. My head aches and my throat is sore and my back aches. I'm so hungry but if I eat I'll throw up again._

He placed the water beside her, saw her turn her pretty head towards the sound.

 _Oh God, I didn't even realise how thirsty I was, but he knew. How does he always know? Maybe he really is psychic._

He chuckled softly. "I don't need to be psychic to know vomiting dehydrates the body. Just a basic knowledge of the human body."

 _Yeah, I'm sure you know all about the human body._ **Female** _bodies in particular._

He ignored that one.

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" he asked. "A hot water bottle for your stomach? Tea? Toast?"

She pulled a face at the very mention of food, causing him to surmise that she already attempted to eat something today, with unpleasant results. Perhaps she'd been trying to gather her strength in order to try and keep their planned date. The idea was pleasing and he listened carefully to her thoughts for a moment for any clues to that end. Unfortunately, her mind was fully occupied with berating herself not to throw up in front of him, as her stomach kept churning at the thought of eating.

 _Teresa Lisbon, you will_ **not** _throw up in front of Patrick Jane. You will not. I forbid it._

She repeated that mantra over and over for the next minute or so, and he was amused to see that she looked far less nauseous by the time she had finished. Mind over matter.

"I'm fine Jane. Really, you can get going. You don't have to hover over me."

 ** _Wha_** _t is he still doing here? What? I wouldn't have blamed him if he'd taken one look at me and then headed for the hills. But he's still here and being all sweet and caring. Why?_

"I know I don't have to," he said gently, handing her the glass of water as she reached for it. 

"Then why are you?"

Suspicion clouded her busy thoughts and she eyed him warily as she sipped her water. _"_ _I don't know what you're up to, but you're definitely up to something."_

It was moments like this when Jane realised just how many of his bad qualities would need improvement before she'd ever fully trust him. A few weeks ago, she'd have been absolutely right to suspect an ulterior motive in his attentions to her now (probably all revolving around the concept of blackmail around the office in order to get her to do things for him.) Today, however, that couldn't have been further from the truth.

She was always giving so much to other people, so much time and energy, and what did she get in return? An almost empty apartment, a practically non-existent social life, and being harangued by him every time they crossed paths. It was high time someone took care of _her_ for a change, even just a little.

"Everyone deserves to be hovered over once in a while, Lisbon," he said, gently. "Especially you."

 _Bastard. How am I supposed to keep hating him when he goes around saying stuff like that to me when I'm not prepared for it? Especially when he looks like_ **that** _?_

She lay back down on the pillow, closing her eyes again. He was amused to discover that she had committed his appearance to memory and was conducting a slow, detailed appraisal in her mind.

 _Nobody should get to be both as intelligent and as handsome as he is at the same time. How is that fair? Oh, temptation, thy name is Patrick Jane in a tuxedo._

At any other time, such thoughts would have been music to his ears, but here they were. She was sick, and sleepy and possibly delirious.

"I'm fine," she said quietly, either not having the energy or simply not bothering to roll over to answer him.

 _So tired. Need to sleep…_

This time, he took the hint. "Well, I guess we'll just have to reschedule our date for when you're on the mend."

 _I was hoping he'd say that._ She seemed genuinely pleased to hear it, which convinced him that she'd been equally as disappointed as he was about this evening's turn of events.

"I guess so."

"If there's nothing else I can do for you, I'll get going, and leave you in peace."

She needed to rest, after all, and she wouldn't be able to relax while he was here. Loath as he was to leave her alone, this was a woman who was fiercely independent and valued her personal space.

 _Don't go._ The thought was so quick and quiet that he almost missed it. Even so, he was almost positive that he had misheard her.

 _It's been kinda nice having him here for company._

OK, so maybe he hadn't misheard. A wave of great joy passed over him, which he pushed away just as swiftly, reminding himself that she was ill and in pain, and that was the main concern right now. Still, a victory was a victory, no matter how slight.

 _Maybe I could ask him to stay._

OK, he hadn't seen that one coming. As a rule, he didn't do sleepovers with women. Spending the night meant seeing them again in the morning, where the harsh light of day and the alcohol wearing off could present an entirely different picture than the one he'd seen the night before…

No. He needed to stop thinking like this. He was changing, reforming. No more treating women like disposable dishrags, and especially not Teresa Lisbon. She'd already made it abundantly clear that she would not stand for being treated like his other conquests, and more to the point, he _wanted_ to be the one to give her what she needed and deserved. If he didn't, it would only be a matter of time before somebody else did. He couldn't bear the thought of seeing her with someone else, not when he knew that he could be the right man for her, if she'd let him. And this could be the ideal place to start.

He followed her thoughts with interest as she weighed up the pros and cons of inviting him to spend the night. Her desire for company was battling heavily against her pride and her embarrassment at feeling weak enough to even consider making such a request.

 _Don't be stupid Teresa, you're a grown woman. You can handle a little stomach flu on your own._

 _It's getting late. I could offer him the couch for the night…_

 _And why would he want to do that? So he can hold your hair back for you while you throw your guts up every few hours? I'm sure he'd just love that all over that expensive suit._

 _Oh God, don't mention the suit. I didn't even realise they cut them that close to the body. And what a body it is._

 _Just ask him! You know you want to, what's the worst that could happen?_

 _He could say no. Or he could say no and then use it against me for the rest of our natural lives. How sure are you that he's really changed?_

 _Oh. Right. That's a good point. Maybe he's just saying and doing all these things just to get you to sleep with him._

 _Maybe, but let's be honest here. If this date had gone as well as you think it would have, you probably_ _ **would**_ _have slept with him._

 _Even after that kiss?_

 _I'm sure even Patrick Jane has his off days. And all those other women can't be wrong._

 _Boy, do you need to sleep._

 _He'll probably get the wrong idea, and then things are going to be awkward. It's been wonderful, getting to know him better. I don't want to lose that over some silly misunderstanding._

 _But it sure would be nice to know there's someone around. Are you sure asking him to stay is a bad idea?_

He was halfway tempted to offer the idea himself, to save her the bother, but something held him back. Her thoughts weren't enough for something like this, it wouldn't be right to use her indecision and illness against her for his own gains. If she asked him, he would stay. But he wouldn't use her thoughts against her, or try and influence her decision in any way; it wouldn't be fair.

Huh. It had been a long time since he'd had any qualms about pressing his advantage. She certainly was changing him.

Her internal debate went on for a few moments longer. Her mind was at war with itself, analysing every possible way things could go wrong, and with another pang of disappointment, he realized she was talking herself out of the idea. She had decided that he was still too much of a risk for her to take. And though he didn't blame her, that knowledge still hurt.

I'm okay," she said finally, crushing his thin final hope at her words. "I'm just going to sleep anyway. Thank you for coming to check on me."

 _That was sweet of him. At times like this, I can see what all the fuss is about. When he wants to be, he can be such a gentleman._

"The pleasure was mine," he said, meaning it. "I hope to see you back at your snarky best soon, Lisbon."

Her eyelids were already beginning to flutter; she'd be asleep in a moment. On a sudden impulse, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her damp forehead. She was in for a rough night, and he was reluctant to leave her, but she had made her wishes clear. So he brought the trashcan from the bathroom and put it beside her bed in case she felt ill in the night, and quietly retreated from the apartment.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There were no CBI cases that required his attention for the next week or so, and with his favourite agent out sick there was even less incentive for him to drop by under some pretext or another. Instead, he kept himself busy by taking on as many clients as possible, but not to help pay for that second home he had wanted so desperately not so long ago. And yes, he knew he was no saint, and at the end of the day he was still scamming people, but this was still the best way he knew of to make money in a hurry, and in this case, he felt the ends would justify the means.

He combined the product of a few days' hard work (which totalled several thousand dollars) into a single cheque that he mailed anonymously to Social Services, with strict instructions that it should be used to buy more toys and comforts for the children there. He'd considered sending a smaller amount in addition and earmarking it specifically for Charlotte, but had changed his mind, knowing that to do so would give him away.

The sweet girl's predicament was not one that could be solved by money anyway. What she needed was someone to take care of her; all the shiny new toys in the world wouldn't replace that need. But after Lisbon had put the kibosh on his (admittedly not well thought-out) plan of adopting her himself, he had still felt the overwhelming desire to do _something_ to help her, even if just a little. If it would make her stay in that awful place even slightly more bearable, then it would be worth it.

And well, if the other kids benefitted from it too, then so much the better. Certainly, Charlotte had been foremost in his thoughts when he'd had the idea, but as she'd come to show him, not all children were the unpleasant, noisy brats that he had come to think they were. And no child should have to grow up in a place like that.

He should have known that he would not stay anonymous for long however, as he visited the centre a few days after mailing the cheque, curious to see whether or not his instructions had been carried out.

They had. Sure, the overwhelming air of the place was as drab and gloomy as ever, but he could see the new bedspreads and pillows on all the cots, and the toy chest that certainly hadn't been there before. There was even a shiny new swing set out in the little patch of weed and buffalo grass they had the audacity to call a garden. There were a few children grouped near it, jostling for a turn, as they watched one of their fellows, a young boy, swinging higher and higher, screaming with laughter.

Good. This was good. To see even these small improvements made it well worth the effort.

 _I knew it was you._

He'd been so caught up in the pleasant buzz of happiness he hadn't noticed Charlotte approaching him, clutching a vaguely familiar teddy bear.

He feigned ignorance. _What was me?_

 _They told us someone very kind had given us some money for toys._

 _Perhaps it was Santa Claus._

The little girl giggled, and let her teddy drop to the floor as she scrambled into Jane's lap.

"It wasn't Santa, it's not Christmas yet," she said, with all the certainty of a four-year old that knew exactly how the world worked. "You can't lie to me, I heard you thinking about it."

He glanced around to make sure they were alone, but the workers at the centre had long since stopped wanted to supervise them every minute. He came so frequently and Charlotte was always so pleased to see him that they seemed to decide he posed no threat. The fact that he sometimes arrived with a policewoman probably didn't hurt either.

Oh Lisbon. Involuntarily his thoughts turned to last time he had seen her, curled up into a ball in her bed, utterly spent. He hadn't heard from her at all since then. He hoped she was feeling better.

 _You like Miss Lisbon a lot, huh?_

He started, forgetting momentarily that with Charlotte, the mind reading was a two-way thing. He'd been working on trying to school his thoughts so she wouldn't see or hear anything that she shouldn't. And there was a lot of stuff going on in his mind that a four-year-old shouldn't be seeing. But this innocent question was a simple enough to answer.

 _I do. Very much._

 _I like her too. She brought me Sam._

She pointed to the teddy bear that was lying on the floor, and in that moment he realised where he had seen it before. In the evidence baggie at the CBI, being locked back into Minelli's drawer. And he knew for a fact that the personal effects from the Kincaid case had yet to be released.

 _Why Lisbon, you sneaky little minx. I'm impressed._

"What's a 'minx?'" asked Charlotte, absently, sliding from his lap in order to retrieve Sam from his solitary reverie.

Jane quickly turned his thoughts away from the non child-appropriate path they had been heading down and came up with the first lie he could come up with.

"It's a big cat. Like a lynx."

 _Fibber. You just don't want me to know._

 _That's right. I'll tell you when you're older._

He had to pause at that one. Eventually (or so he hoped) Charlotte's family or a foster family would be found and she'd be out of this place. And while he wished for that outcome with all his heart, he knew that once she left here he would probably never see her again. And she was young, she would forget him soon enough, but he would always wonder what had become of her, his little urchin. To his surprise, he felt a lump come to his throat.

"I won't forget you," said Charlotte, coming back over to him with Sam the teddy bear clutched tightly in her arms. 

"You will," he said. "You'll go off and grow up and do lots of exciting things and you won't remember anything about this time."

He sincerely hoped that turned out to be true. For a girl this young to suffer so much trauma was nothing short of disgusting. It would be for her own good to block this horrific chapter out of her life and have a fresh start.

"I'll remember you," she insisted, climbing back into his lap again. "You're my friend."

She turned questioning eyes toward him.

 _Aren't you?_

He wrapped his arms around the little girl and gave her a quick squeeze.

 _Of course, kid._

Even with all the extra creature comforts he had helped provide, leaving Charlotte at the centre wasn't any easier. He let her walk him to the front door, and hugged her before extricating his hand gently from hers. She wailed, and reached for him as one of the workers began to lead her away, shooting him a sympathetic glance over her shoulder.

 _I almost wish he wouldn't come to see her so often._ _She always gets so upset when he leaves._

He hadn't needed to hear that, and neither had Charlotte, but the child was crying so fiercely he suspected she wasn't aware of anything but her own pain. Was the carer right? Was he really making things worse for Charlotte by coming to see her? Was he giving her false hope that he would be coming to take her away, and then disappointing her every time?

He got back into his car, feeling flat and irritated like he did every time he had to leave Charlotte behind. It was nearing five in the afternoon. He didn't have any clients, or any plans at all for the evening. He supposed he could dig up a date from somewhere if he felt like it, sex was usually his remedy when feeling out of sorts, but the idea held little appeal. He didn't need a random warm body right now, he needed _company._ And he knew just where to find it.

He arrived at the CBI just as the staff was making its traditional afternoon stampede to exit the building. He recited the first few stanzas of _The Tyger_ in his head in order to combat the sudden onslaught of thoughts and emotions that greeted him. He'd found that focusing on recall, rather than allowing his brain to accept new information limited the amount of other thoughts that were able to get through.

 _"_ _Tyger, tyger, burning bright…"_

He pushed his way through the crowd of escaping agents and took the elevator upstairs to the Serious Crimes floor. He had seen Rigsby's lanky frame and a flash of Van Pelt's red hair in the mass exodus, so he knew they were gone. There was no sign of Cho but his bag was packed and ready on his desk so he must be about to leave for the day. As he expected, a light still burned in the office. If he knew Lisbon, he would guess that she'd been staying back late ever since her return, in order to make up for her time away. Stupid, really, because she already worked longer hours than she ought to, but for tonight, it suited his purposes.

He opened the door and she looked up, trying but failing to hide the smile that crossed her face at the sight of him.

 _What's Jane doing here? Though I'm kinda glad to see him._

He schooled his features into an expression of seriousness.

"I'm here to report a robbery," he said gravely, and watched the smile disappear from her face in favour of worry instead.

"What happened?"

 _What did they steal? Did they hurt him? Oh, I bet it was one of his bimbos; he really needs to have higher standards about who he lets into his house._

That was a low blow, but not necessarily unfounded. But oh, if she only knew about how his standards had changed.

"It has come to my attention that there has been an act of grand larceny, from within the CBI itself."

"What?!"

He almost laughed out loud at her outrage and disbelief at the very idea of someone impeaching upon the honour of her beloved CBI. Her thoughts went into overdrive, ranging from wondering what had been stolen to how she was going to break this to Minelli, and he listened in with great amusement.

"Well, I'm very glad you came to me, Jane," she said, suddenly business-like, and grabbing a pad and pen from the desk decide her. "Tell me what you know."

He took the seat across from her, keeping a straight face with difficulty. "Well, I went to see Charlotte today, and I couldn't help noticing that _somehow_ , Sam the teddy bear has managed to find his way out of the CBI evidence lock-up and back into her arms. Suspicious, don't you think, considering the Kincaid evidence is still supposed to be in storage?"

She blushed, whether from embarrassment or anger at his trick, he wasn't entirely sure. Probably both, if her thoughts were any indication. They ranged from _how did he know it was me?_ to _what a bastard, making me worry about him like that!_ In the end she went with a classic.

"You're a jerk."

Finally, he was able to smile at her. "I know. But it was worth it to see the look on your face."

She dropped the pad and pen back on the desk with a thud.

"Did Charlotte tell you?"

 _I bet she did, you two are as thick as thieves._

"More or less. When did you go and see her?"

"The other day, after work."

"After you stole the bear, you mean?"

"Shut up!"

 _It was actually pretty easy to get it, they really should be more careful down there._

"Hey, if it's any consolation, I would have done the exact same thing."

"I know."

 _That's what terrifies me. I think you're rubbing off on me, Patrick Jane. This can't be good for my career._

"Do you regret it?" he asked, genuinely curious. She mulled it over for a while before answering.

"No," she admitted quietly. "If we can't get her out of there I just wanted to do something to make it a bit easier on her. It was the best I could come up with."

He could relate to that. When it came to Charlotte, he and Lisbon seemed to have more in common than either of them had thought.

"Well, for what it's worth, she's very appreciative."

"I'm glad." He'd never get used to that weird stereo effect that happened when she spoke her thoughts at the same time.

"How are you feeling, by the way?" he asked, noticing the way, she started to recline in her desk chair, clearly preferring to talk to him over doing more paperwork.

"Much better, thank you."

 _I spent three days with my head over a toilet, watching daytime trash TV and drinking Gatorade. If I never get stomach flu again in my life it'll be too soon._

"Excellent." Daringly, he reached across the desk and took her hand. She started a little, but allowed him to do it, breath hitching as their fingers entwined together, and his thumb traced gently back and forth. "And now that you're back in the land of the living, will you let me take you out on that date?"

"Are you sure you want to risk it? So far it hasn't been working out too well for us," she laughed.

 _In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd say the universe is trying to tell us something here."_

"Well, you know what they say. If at first you don't succeed…"

"Try, try, _try_ again," she finished for him, with a little laugh.

"Is that a yes?" He didn't want to assume anything where Lisbon was concerned. He'd already been shown on several occasions why that was a bad idea.

"It's a yes."

 _Like I could deny him anything right now._

And then, gloriously: _I want to kiss him._

And of course, he wanted to act on her impulse. Of course he did, but he didn't really want their first real (he wasn't counting that other disaster) kiss to be over a desk. He wanted to be able to hold her close, to feel her, not the wooden edge of a desk. Instead, he brought her hand to his lips, and kissed that instead. Not exactly ideal, but an adequate substitute for now.

 _Oh God, he kissed me on the hand? Who even does that, other than Disney princes?_

 _But it totally worked though. Admit it. You thought it was sexy._

 _Of course it was. But that's not the point._

"Pick a day that suits," he said. "I'll arrange everything."

Reluctantly, he released her hand, and made to leave. She needed to get on with her paperwork and he needed to cool down before doing something he'd regret. He had a feeling that they only had one more shot at getting this kissing thing right, and he wasn't about to blow his last chance in her office, of all places.

"Goodnight, Lisbon."

"Wait." To his surprise, she got up too, darted around the desk, and caught him just as he reached the door. "I just wanted to say thank you for the other night."

He chuckled. "You already did that."

Though he supposed he couldn't really expect her to remember that, she was nearly passed out at the time.

 _Did I? I must have been really out of it._

"Well, even so, thank you. It was nice to have a distraction for a while."

 _He's a very nice distraction when he wants to be. Especially when he's all dressed up._

She really did have a thing for the eveningwear, didn't she?

"I was in pretty bad shape," she said, shamefacedly. "I guess I needed a hand there for a while."

He wondered how long it had been before she'd admitted something like that to anyone, or even to herself. Her thoughts were in a frenzy of shock, as she processed what she'd said, and again, he felt affection for her spread through him like a warm glow.

"It's nice to be needed. Anything for you, Lisbon."

 _Anything?_

She was still so doubtful. So cautious of him, and so unwilling to accept that she deserved something good and loving.

"Anything."

 _Great, now I really want to kiss him._

"So why don't you?" The words came out before he could stop them.

"What?"

"Kiss me. I know you're thinking about it."

"No I'm not." But she didn't sound all that convincing and her thoughts confirmed it.

 _Liar. You_ _ **so**_ _want to._

"How do you do that?" she asked. "Know what I'm thinking all the time? There's some kind of trick to it, isn't there?"

He chuckled. "Come on, a magician never reveals his secrets, Lisbon."

"I bet I could persuade you." Her eyes sparkled with the excitement of the challenge.

"Oh yeah?" he laughed, listening to her fascinating mind as it came up with plans to fool him into revealing his 'trick.' "Do your worst."

He wasn't sure which of them was the more surprised when she grabbed him by the lapels, pulled him to her, and kissed him.

 _Oh my God I can't believe I did that._

The thought flashed across her mind with lightning speed. He couldn't believe she'd done it either, but he was very, very glad she had.

Determined not to make the same mistakes as last time, he let her take the lead. She set a slow, sensual pace, which he matched with ease, wrapping his arms around her, feeling her lithe frame against his body. This was the kiss they should have had the last time.

She was amazing. She was beautiful. She was perfect.

And then she kicked it up a notch. Suddenly, tenderness became passion, hands that had been lying flat began to caress and clutch, and all his reservations about kissing her at the office flew out of his head.

Her low moans were music to his ears, her thoughts were of romance and sex and passion and…the couch.

Ah, the couch. Well, if the couch was what she wanted, the couch she would get.

He knew he surprised her when he swept her legs out from under her and into his arms, still kissing her as though his life depended on it.

 _Holy crap, he's stronger than he looks. Thank God the blinds are closed._

He laid her on the soft, white couch (he'd always questioned its presence in her office, but not today) and broke their kiss, just to give her an opportunity to change her mind, if she wanted to.

 _Oh no, you're not getting away that easily._

Her hand grabbed his collar with surprising strength, and pulled him back down to meet her lips again. So he obliged her. He kissed her and kissed her until he ran out of air, and then trailed kisses down the soft skin of her neck. She liked that; he could tell without even reading her thoughts, still it was nice to hear it.

 _Where the hell was this the other day? My God, he can kiss._

Her arms were around his neck, teasing the jacket from his shoulders, and her thoughts, he was pleased to hear were occupied with nothing but him.

 _I really shouldn't be doing this at the office. But I couldn't stop now, even if I wanted to. And I really, really don't._

Neither did he. If it were up to him this perfect moment would go on forever.

The universe, it seemed, had other plans, when a sharp knock at the door startled them both out of their romantic haze.

 **A/N: Now I'm going to throw you over to Donna for more of her brilliant writing.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Donna here. Thanks so much for continuing to read and review each chapter. You guys are the greatest. This chapter is rated "M" toward the end, so pleased be advised.**

 **Chapter 7**

"Boss?" came the voice of Kimball Cho outside Lisbon's office door.

Lisbon slid out from beneath Jane on the couch and was up on her feet like a jack-in-the-box, leaving Jane shaking with unfulfilled desire. He sat upright, just in time for Lisbon to get to her seat behind her desk and give a calm, "Come in."

Cho opened the door and entered, rightly assessing the situation in the office in one sweeping glance. His eyes widened as he saw Jane with a telltale throw pillow covering his crotch, Lisbon's blouse unbuttoned by four instead of the usual staid two, both of them flushed and disheveled.

 _They were going at it on the couch._

Jane grinned sheepishly, meeting Cho's dark gaze with what he hoped was a universal expression of male empathy. Cho was having none of it, however, and his eyes narrowed in fleeting warning before turning to his boss.

 _If he hurts her, I'll rip his balls off._

Jane's grin abruptly faded.

"We caught a case," Cho said aloud. "Married couple murdered on Brannan Island."

Suddenly all business, Lisbon rose to her feet. "Grab the others. I'll meet you downstairs in five."

"Will do."

Cho left, purposefully leaving the door open like the father of a teenage girl, Jane feeling oddly like the visiting boyfriend in that scenario.

"You think he knows what we were doing?" Lisbon asked, uncharacteristically panicked.

"Definitely."

 _Oh, my God._

"Oh, my God."

Jane chuckled, rising a little unsteadily from the couch. The mental image of Cho emasculating him had cooled his ardor considerably, but his blood still hummed through his body as he looked at Lisbon, her mouth swollen and red from his kisses.

"Don't worry, he won't tell anyone. Now if it had been Rigsby, all bets would be off."

She visibly shuddered, then focused on exhaling the breath she'd been holding since she'd heard Cho's voice on the other side of her door.

"Yeah, you're probably right." But in her mind she was trying unsuccessfully to convince herself of the same thing.

Jane walked over to her as she pulled her shoulder holster from her desk drawer and put it on over her blouse, then grabbed her blazer jacket from the back of her chair.

He stood before her as she pulled her hair from beneath the jacket's collar, stilling at his touch just above her breasts, her breath catching at his touch. She met his eyes, hers still dilated and a bit dazed as he buttoned her up to respectability again. She blushed, realizing that Cho might have had a glimpse of black lace.

 _What was I thinking? I would have made love to him on my office couch in the middle of the day, where anyone could have come in…_

"And I would have let you," he said softly, not even trying to hide his psychic ability, though in her flustered state, she didn't even notice.

Her eyes clouded with sudden desire, and he resisted the urge to kiss her again, though where that honorable impulse had come from, he had no idea.

"Rain check?" he said with a small smile.

"Definitely," she echoed his earlier word, treating him to her dimples.

As she gathered her keys from her desk, Jane stood by patiently, expecting to walk her to the parking lot and then part until they could re-schedule their date. But he could hear a new, intriguing battle in her mind, and his heart skipped a beat.

 _It would be a mistake to ask him. He would probably be a huge distraction. I bet it's an open and closed case; we won't need him—but I don't want to say goodbye. Can we both be professional now? Can he behave himself?_ _ **Can I**_ _?_

"Come with me on this case," she said suddenly, her heart clearly overruling her head. She met his eyes, trying to sound casual, but her voice had been a bit too rough for that.

He cleared his own throat. "I don't want to get in the way."

 _Oh, God, you probably would._

"You won't," she lied, but he let this one pass.

"Okay then," he said, his smile wide and blinding.

She blinked. "Okay."

He extended a chivalrous arm. "After you, Boss."

Her eyebrows rose at that, but she accepted the moniker with a smirk.

 _Finally, he knows his place._

She preceded him out the door, and he grinned as she wondered all the way to the elevator if he was checking out her ass.

He was.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Over the next few days they became embroiled in the murder case, which turned out not to be as simple as Lisbon had hoped. Jane's insight helped them solve it, along with Van Pelt's expertise in retrieving deleted information on the couple's cell phones.

For the most part, Lisbon's fears of lack of professionalism were never realized, save for the time he grabbed her and kissed her senseless when they were alone in the CBI elevator. The team accepted Jane's help grudgingly at first, since he usually wasn't called unless they'd hit a brick wall, but when everything he surmised seemed to pan out, he was pleased to hear the respect both in their thoughts and their words. Cho still gave Jane a few chilling glances when the consultant stood too close to Lisbon, but his thoughts became gratifyingly less violent as the days wore on. Jane chalked this up to progress.

After case closed pizza, he left Lisbon to recover from the long days they'd spent on the case, both of them having only caught an hour or two of sleep on their respective couches. The rest of the team would wander down to the basement gym, when there was a lull, where cots were always available for agents to catch a few winks when they were on call.

"I'll call you with the details for Saturday," he whispered before he left.

She nodded, trying not to shiver at his warm breath near her ear.

"Okay. And, thanks again, Jane, for your help. You did a great job."

 _And it was nice being able to see you every day, even though we were never really alone._

"Thanks, Lisbon. It was certainly a team effort."

In another time, he would have selfishly taken all the praise. That realization humbled him, and he glanced around at Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt, laughing and arguing over the last two pieces of pizza. These were good, honest people, devoted to their work, genuinely desirous of justice for the victims they served. Listening to their thoughts these past few days, he found to his surprise that he really liked each of them as people, even Cho, who only wanted to protect his boss from the likes of him. Jane couldn't really begrudge him that.

"Hey," said Lisbon, and he felt her warm hand lightly touch his sleeve. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Just woolgathering." He found her hand and quickly and unobtrusively squeezed it. "I had fun. See you Saturday."

 _I can't wait,_ said her thoughts as well as her bright green eyes.

He couldn't either.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He picked her up in his red Porsche this time, done with trying to impress her, at least in this way. He was glad he had, because the color of her new dress matched it exactly, and they shared a few jokes about it, easing the tension between them.

The restaurant he chose was expensive but understated, and very, very French. Lisbon couldn't pronounce most of the menu, and in a giant leap of faith for her, she let him order. They sat closely together on the leather booth seat, and while he knew the food was great, later he would only clearly remember how the candlelight had reflected in her eyes the moment before he kissed her.

Halfway through their shared dessert of chocolate torte, he'd moved even closer to taste the inviting sweetness of her lips. Fire flared immediately between them, and he deepened this kiss, tasting chocolate and the headier richness of desire. All through their public makeout session, he heard the disjointed thoughts of a woman almost overwhelmingly turned on. He swallowed a soft moan or two of hers, then wondered if she had done the same for him. It was the sexiest encounter he had ever had with a woman, and they were still fully dressed and completely vertical.

They kissed and kissed until the waiter had to clear his throat twice to draw their attention to the check. They came up for air in embarrassment, suddenly aware of where they were. The eyes of their fellow patrons rested on them either in amusement or disapproval, and Jane heard the gamut of the mental commentary, but he didn't care what anyone thought. He only cared that Lisbon wanted him almost as much as he wanted her. It was a welcome and stunning revelation.

They left the restaurant in a flurry of nervous laughter at the enormity of what they had shared, at the mutual feeling that they had gotten away with something very naughty, and extremely out of character for both of them. He wanted nothing more than to take her home and finish what they'd started in the comfort of his bed, but he remembered that he had one more surprise for her, and there was another beautiful female he had to find and please.

After he refused to answer her questions about their next destination, they both lapsed into a comfortable silence, Jane enjoying her thoughts as he maneuvered through Saturday evening traffic.

 _That was the most fun I've ever had making out. I couldn't seem to stop kissing him. It's like I had no control of myself._

He saw out of the corner of his eye her fingers going to her lips, reliving those moments, and he felt that touch in his groin.

 _I can't believe we did that. In public. Oh, God. That was so not appropriate._

"Don't be embarrassed," he said softly, reaching for her hand across the center console. "You've never made out in public before?"

"No," she said. "Never."

 _I've never been that tempted before._

"Well I'm honored I was your first, at least in this anyway."

She smiled. _Where were you when I was seventeen?_

Jane remembered who he had been at seventeen, and he knew he wouldn't have appreciated her at that age. She would have just been another notch on his belt. Hell, two weeks ago she would have been nothing more than a good lay.

Her warm hand gave his a squeeze, and he found himself grateful everything was falling into place for them now, on this day, in this time.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Are we going to see Charlotte?" Lisbon asked, as he put his blinker on to exit the freeway on the street where Child Protective Services was located.

"Do you mind?"

"No, of course not." And he was pleased by her thoughts that she meant it. "It's getting a little late for a visit though, isn't it?"

"Well, this isn't an ordinary visit," he said mysteriously.

She pondered his meaning until they pulled up to the county building, and he turned off the engine. He got out of the car and helped her get out of her low seat, taking the time to admire the nicely toned legs her short dress revealed as she swung her feet out first. He took her hands, gently pulling her up to stand on sexy black high heels, the extra height making them almost see eye to eye. Jane's mouth went dry, and he couldn't resist pressing a light kiss to her soft lips.

"You might want to take those off," he said, glancing down at her shoes, "and put this on." He handed her her sweater from the car, before he turned and cupped his hands over his mouth, yelling toward the vacant lot across the street.

"Hey, Pete! Hit the lights."

Suddenly, the empty, grassy lot was lit up and Lisbon gasped to see that a carousel and a small Ferris wheel were now taking up most of the space. Music from the carousel filled the air with canned happiness, and a mountain of a man dressed in circus ringmaster garb, ambled across the street to join them, calling gleefully to Patrick as he moved much faster than his girth would imply. Upon reaching them in the parking lot, he enveloped Jane in a bear hug that fully lived up to the term, slapping wide paws upon the much smaller man's back.

Jane half-laughed, half-groaned in greeting, but he was grinning with a pure joy Lisbon had never seen on him before.

"Pete, this is Teresa Lisbon. Teresa, this is Pete, strongest man I know—and I'm not just talking about his muscles." Jane pinched his nose dramatically, and had to duck to avoid Pete's mock angry swipe. Before Lisbon could react, she received the same embrace, and Jane watched her small frame nearly disappear into Pete's arms.

Jane's grin stretched impossibly wider, as he listened to Lisbon's confused and curious thoughts while her face was pressed against Pete's red-clad barrel of a chest.

"Teresa! You're definitely much prettier than the other cops I've met," said the gentle giant, releasing her. She wobbled a bit on her heels, and he steadied her like a gentleman.

"Thanks," she said, kicking her shoes off when he released her. The pavement was cold beneath her bare feet.

"Once upon a time I used to work with Pete on the carnival circuit," Jane supplied. "He looked out for me when my dad couldn't. When my mom died, Pete's wife Sam kept me in line—with the switch of my choosing."

"I heard that, Boy Wonder," called a woman's voice from across the street. Everyone looked in that direction to see a lovely African American woman manning the carnival food truck. Apparently one could buy cotton candy, giant corndogs, funnel cakes and pink lemonade.

"Hey, Sam!"

"Hey, yourself, Paddy. Now get those kids over here before my corndogs get cold, or I'll embarrass you in front of your girlfriend with some stories about _why_ you needed that switch…"

Jane chuckled. "All right, all right, woman." He glanced down at Lisbon and took her hand. "Let's go get the guests of honor."

The fifteen children under twelve years old assigned to the Sacramento County Child Protective Services Center were already pressing their noses against the front windows of the building, where they'd been most of the afternoon, watching in awe as the vacant lot was transformed into a small wonderland. The moment Jane and Lisbon entered, the kids surrounded them, asking questions and begging to come outside. Miss Summers quieted them down, and another, much older woman with a pinched face and a disapproving air stood close by.

"Now remember what we talked about. You're to stay with a partner and within eye view of me, Miss VanOrsdol, Mr. Jane, or Miss Lisbon. You may ride the rides as many times as you like, and you may have two things and a drink from the concession truck. Is that clear?"

"Yes!" they chorused excitedly, chomping at the bit to get outside where the action was.

Jane heard in his mind Charlotte's happy greeting before he felt a small tug on his hand.

"Good evening, urchin. Ready to have some fun?" he said aloud for Lisbon's benefit.

"Hi, Miss Lisbon. Yes, please," she answered politely, though Jane could feel the excited tattoo of the little girl's pulse at her wrist.

 _Come on, Patrick! Let's go!_

After the children donned sweaters and light jackets against the cool night air, Miss Summers finally opened the front doors, and made them all hold hands while they stopped and dutifully looked both ways before crossing the empty street. After that, all bets were off, as Pete rushed ahead to man the Ferris wheel. Another carnie worker ran the carousel, and a teenage girl stood by at a makeshift petting zoo, filled with a deer, a llama, a pony, and a baby elephant.

When Charlotte was safely buckled to a pink horse on the carousel, he sat by Lisbon in a swan-shaped bench seat, waiting for the ride to begin.

"How'd you manage all this?" she marveled, her cop's brain contemplating permits, permissions, and logistics.

"Well, the carnival has its winter quarters nearby, and it didn't take much to convince Pete to break the monotony of it and do me a favor. Thanks to Minelli's contacts with the city bigwigs, I was able to secure all the necessary permits. Miss Sour Puss in there—I mean, Mrs. VanOrsdol, was harder to convince than the Supreme Court, but she came around when I greased the wheels a bit, so you can relax your pretty little mind and enjoy."

In truth, it had taken another $25,000 worth of "grease" to get the Ferris wheel rolling at this end, and a few well-timed, flirtatious smiles to get the by-the-book old battle ax to loosen the reigns a little.

"Wow," Lisbon both thought and said. "I'm totally and completely impressed."

Jane shrugged nonchalantly, though he was secretly pleased by her admission. He rested his arm across the back of the seat, bringing her close to him as the ride began. He watched with pleasure as Charlotte chatted and giggled with the little girl seated on the purple horse beside her, and for the moment, she wasn't even thinking of her lonely situation. Hearing his thoughts centering on her, Charlotte turned and smiled.

 _Thank you, Patrick! This is so cool!_

 _Cool?_ He thought back. _What four-year-old says_ _ **cool?**_

 _Mommy says I'm very grown up for my age._ And she rolled her eyes to prove it.

Jane laughed, then gave her a cross-eyed raspberry, complete with waggling fingers in his ears. Both girls giggled some more, then squealed, promptly forgetting him as their horses began to move up and down as the merry-go-round began its first circle.

 _Be careful, Teresa,_ thought the other lady beside him. _You could totally fall in love with this man._

Her thoughts were so clear and loud in his head, even above the din of the fake calliope music, that he tensed and looked down at the dark head resting against his shoulder, his eyes wide with something like shock.

 _Love._

Now that's a word he had never used in his life. Sure, he'd loved his mother, loved his old carnie friends, like Pete and Sam, but been in love with a woman? Never. There had been crushes as a teenager, infatuations as an adult. But in those cases, it only took sleeping with the girl a few times for him to get over any tender feelings and want to flutter on to the next enticing flower. For Jane, love was the only four letter word he _didn't_ use.

So why then did hearing that word form in this woman's mind make him stop and consider if something about her, something about this _thing_ between them was different. Well, he reasoned, there was only one way to find out.

"Come home with me tonight," he whispered against her hair.

She looked up at him, startled but undoubtedly excited to hear his proposition. Still, her natural caution where he was concerned reared its ugly head, and she hesitated.

 _Come on, Teresa, you're a grown-ass woman. You can have casual sex with a man you're beginning to care about even though he's a serial womanizer. He doesn't have to love you for you to have the best sex of your life. This is the Twenty-first century after all. You can do this…_

"Okay," she said aloud.

With a strange mix of emotions, he lightly kissed her mouth.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Three _hours_ later, after a passionate kiss at the top of the Ferris wheel, and the sticky sharing of the funnel cake Charlotte couldn't finish, Jane and Lisbon were kissing hungrily in the elevator on the way up to his apartment. Dexterous hands cupped her breasts over red silk, thumbs brushing over taut nipples as he slid aside spaghetti straps to kiss the crook of her neck. All the while, her thoughts spurred him on.

 _Oh, yes, oh God. I'm gonna melt in a puddle if he keeps doing that…_

Naturally, he kept doing that.

In the hall his hands shook as he unlocked his door and let them in, while she pressed her body against his back, her naughty hands reaching round to brush over the aching bulge in his slacks.

"Jesus," he muttered, as they stumbled inside. He turned around to kiss her some more, and much like in her office, she took immediate control, her fingers working at the buttons of his dress shirt.

 _Gotta get his clothes off and see that amazing body while I still am coherent enough to appreciate it._

He helped her by slipping off his suit coat and loosening his tie, letting both fall to the floor, for once not caring how much the suit had cost or the impending cleaners' bill. When he'd lost his shirt and vest, Lisbon stepped back to admire him, his pulse so loud in his ears he almost couldn't hear himself think, let alone her.

 _God, it's even better than I thought._

"Thanks," he said automatically.

Before she could respond, he pulled her to him almost roughly, unzipping the back of her dress and pulling it mindlessly down her gently curving hips. Still barefoot from their carnival adventure, she stepped easily out of the dress, her passion dark eyes never leaving his. She stood proudly in her strapless red bra and matching panties. All those mornings jogging and working out on the machines in the gym had paid off, and she knew it.

"You should damn well be proud," he said tightly. "You're beautiful, Teresa."

She flushed even more, and he could see the rosiness deepen from her translucent cleavage to her hairline.

And then he did something that he'd always thought was too corny, too Hollywood chick flick—he picked her up in his arms and carried her to his bedroom. Her sigh of surprise and the romantic appreciation in her thoughts were his reward.

He laid her gently on his king size bed, pausing to take her all in, in the dim light of his bedside lamp. She looked gorgeous and excited for what was to come. His hands moved impatiently to his belt and fly, and she watched him, her own hands luxuriating in the soft faux suede of his comforter. He couldn't wait to feel those hands on him.

 _I wonder how many women he's had in this bed._

He stopped, staring at her.

"You're the only one of I've truly ever wanted here," he said, surprised at his own sincerity. But it was true.

He liked sex, actively pursued sex. But it occurred to him now that he had so much of it because, while it was momentarily satisfying with each encounter, he invariably felt empty afterwards. But maybe he'd find fulfillment in the next woman, or the next. Whatever it was he needed to feel truly replete, it was just beyond his reach. Drinking had helped fool him, for a while. Now he used it to help numb the emptiness. He was surprised now to find that with Lisbon, he hadn't even needed the one glass of wine at dinner. He already felt halfway fulfilled, and all he'd done was kiss her.

With a new intensity, he finished undressing, her bra and panties soon joining his clothes on the floor as helped her out of them. He crawled upon her, sharing in her delight as their naked bodies met for the first time. With a tenderness he rarely felt, Jane reached up and brushed her bangs from her slumberous eyes.

"I want this to be so good for you," he whispered.

 _Me too._

"It will be," she said, and he grinned a little at her encouragement.

First, he kissed her mouth, taking his time because he knew now how much she liked his kisses, especially the long, deep ones that set both their heads spinning. He moved then to her breasts, knowing from her unspoken pleas just how hard to suckle, how much time to spend on each puckered nipple, hearing her desire that he use his hand at the same time his mouth was otherwise engaged.

He continued his attentions on her delectable breasts, just a step beyond when she thought she was going crazy, before moving lower. He paused to rub his stubbled cheeks gently there until she laughingly pushed him further south. He noted that she was ticklish there, and with a final kiss on her flat belly, he smiled and continued his mapping expedition of her body.

 _Is he going there? Really? I've never had a man do that our first time. Usually it's too intimate, too-_

"Well that's truly a shame, Teresa," he said, pausing at the apex of her thighs to look up into her hopeful green gaze. "But I'm not like most men."

 _What? Oh, God, oh sweet Jesus…ohhhh_

Just like with her breasts, he went at her desired pace, employing his fingers in ways she never imagined, swirling his tongue until her head was thrashing back and forth on the bed, her fingers tugging almost painfully at his hair. Cunnilingus was something he usually did for a woman (if she enjoyed it, of course) but it was mainly to show off his technique, to earn his reputation as a skilled lover. But with this woman, he'd never felt so much joy, had so much fun discovering what pleased her, and happily fulfilling her every wish. When she came, he shared her ecstasy with her, fascinated by the momentary blankness of her mind, the intense pleasure she felt, wave after tremulous wave of it.

He watched her face, having never taken a moment to do that with all the others, to observe how her eyes squeezed shut, to follow the undulations and tremors of her stomach, her thighs. She experienced her orgasm with her entire body and mind, and he kicked himself for never caring enough to notice before with other women.

When she could form thoughts again, she opened languid eyes to look at him, flushing anew at his silent regard.

"Wow," she said. "That was—intense."

 _Freakin' understatement of the year, Teresa._

He smiled. "We're just getting started."

"Yeah," she said, sitting up. "Your turn."

Before he could put up much of a fight, she had wrestled him to his back, any former temerity gone as her hands ran over the hard planes of his body. He wasn't much of a gym kind of guy, preferring to swim laps in the heated rooftop pool, a ritual he did several times a week, resulting in his lean, strong chest and firmly muscled arms and legs. For once, he didn't take her appreciation for granted, listening to her thoughts as she traced each muscle, pausing to kiss and caress as her fancy took her. He enjoyed each touch as his desire rose to a fever pitch. If he didn't have her soon, he would embarrass himself beneath her hands.

 _Would he think I was weird if he knew I enjoyed giving a man a BJ?_

He had to grin at her ladylike use of the abbreviation, even in her own mind, but at the same time, his excitement immediately increased tenfold.

"Do whatever you want to me, Teresa," he said, his jaw tautening as her hair brushed his stomach. He gasped. "I'm at your…disposal."

He never demanded oral sex from women, for he'd long suspected most didn't much care for the practice, though he accepted the gift gratefully when it was offered. And if Lisbon was offering, well he'd do his best to survive it.

He almost didn't.

Between her mental appreciation of his size and the velvety smoothness of his most intimate part, along with the magic of her mouth and the humming of her own enjoyment, he thought he might die from the pleasure of it. He was at the point of no return more quickly than he'd planned, and he helplessly begged her to stop. But she had a bit of the devil in her, pushing him nearly to his limits before efficiently sliding on a condom from his bedside drawer and slowly lowering herself on top of him.

He heard her mental chuckle at the power she wielded over him, but then the pleasure took them both as he immediately plunged upward into her body. Her thoughts seemed to merge with his, and he didn't need her mental direction to know what she wanted. They both desired a slow build until finally he rolled her onto her back. He took her harder and faster, her fingers clawing at his back as he spread her legs wider, going up on his knees to enter her even more deeply. One hand dropped between their bodies to deftly caress her, a movement she never knew she'd needed before.

When she climaxed again, there was no doubt she wasn't faking it, for he saw the exact same stars as, while they cried out in mutual ecstasy.

It was the most incredible experience of Jane's life, and he lay on his back beside her, breathing heavily, wondering how sex could possibly be this good with anyone else ever again. She'd spoiled him, and he knew in a flash that there would be no getting over this woman.

Beside him, the once ladylike Lisbon's mind was now filled with a litany of cussing and swearing. He chuckled for the mere joy of it.

"I take it, it was good for you?"

"Oh, God. It was like you were totally in my head, you knew exactly what I wanted, when I wanted it. I—I'm sorry, but my brain is about worthless right now."

He turned on his side to look at her, seeing the perspiration at her brow and between her heaving breasts. He felt sweaty all over himself.

"Take a shower with me," he said. "I'm feeling a little dirty." And he wickedly waggled his eyebrows.

She laughed, turning to him, tousling his damp, curly hair with her fingers. "You just don't want all my sex sweat on your expensive sheets."

He grinned, dropping a sweet kiss on her nose. "True, but I also want to brag on my amazing shower. I had it custom-made—"

She silenced him with a deep, drugging kiss, and Jane's own mind went numb.

"You've convinced me," she said, and before he could get over the dizziness, she'd rolled off the bed and run to the bathroom. He heard her give a laugh filled with disbelief at his over-the-top oasis. From the intricate tile design of vivid greens and blues to the glass shower door, the exotic vessel sink, and the massive four-person sunken tub in the corner.

"Do a lot of entertaining in here?" she asked suspiciously, when he joined her. She had to force her eyes from his incredible body to meet his.

"No, actually. This is the one room in this cold apartment that I truly love, and I'm pretty selfish about sharing it."

She smiled, clearly touched. "Then I'm honored. But I can't decide whether I'd like to try your custom-made multiple shower heads or take a swim in your tub."

He grinned at her teasing tone. "Whatever you want, Teresa. Your wish is my command."

She walked over to him then, and Jane never remembered feeling so comfortable with a woman right after sex. Usually he was already wondering how to avoid the awkwardness of getting her out of there. She embraced him, going up on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss his cheek. He was surprised to find he already wanted her again.

"Hmmm," she hummed against his lips. "Surprise me."

That probably wasn't the time to tell her he could read her mind.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

He invited her to stay the night, and there was no hesitation in either of them. He didn't say what a big step this was for him, but he knew she still thought she was one of many. He'd have to quickly dispel her of that notion, but he had no idea how, so he started with trying to overwhelm her with sex. He'd taken her against the wall of his shower, then they'd spent a good hour soaking in his whirlpool tub until they were both impossibly pruny and relaxed to their bones.

Later, after she'd borrowed his hair dryer, she asked him if he had an extra t-shirt laying around.

"Feel free to commandeer my closet, Agent Lisbon," he offered from the bed.

He heard her whistle as she opened the closet door, heard her brain working as she figured out the revolving clothes racks filled with expensive suits and shirts, beheld the labeled clear boxes of Italian shoes.

"This closet is bigger than my bedroom," she said. She found a plain white tee, folded neatly on a shelf, with a brand she couldn't pronounce. She pulled it on and it covered her to her pretty knees.

"That's better." She emerged with his robe on too, and sat on the bed beside him.

"You look adorable in menswear," he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.

"You should see me with a pizza," she countered.

He laughed. "Hungry?"

"I know I shouldn't be, after that fabulous dinner and a funnel cake the size of a hubcap, but I seem to have burned a few extra calories." She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. "Dammit; it's almost midnight. Any place around here deliver that late?"

"I know a place. Hand me my phone, please. Despite all the impressive splendor you see around you, I'm a bachelor, remember?"

"Right," she grumbled, retrieving his phone for him from his pants pocket on the floor.

After he'd ordered—knowing she craved mushrooms and black olives, both from closed-case pizza experience as well as reading her mind tonight—he pulled her into his arms and became lost in her kisses.

The door buzzed right when Jane rolled off of her, and Lisbon grabbed his wallet and robe to open the door to the delivery man. Had Jane not been deep in his third refractory period of the night, he would have been able to get out of bed sooner to stop her.

"Teresa, wait! Don't answer that-"

He'd heard the naughty thoughts of the drunken women that greeted Lisbon at the door the moment before she opened it. Erika and Lorelei practically fell inside the room, giggling hysterically at the shocked expression on Lisbon's face. She deftly stepped aside.

"We're too late, Erika," said Lorelei with a leer. "He's already found our replacement." She frowned. "Sort of a mousey little thing though, isn't she?"

"That's okay. The more the merrier, I always say."

Erika shoved a bottle of expensive champagne into Lisbon's hands. "Put that on ice, will you, sweety?"

Both women staggered in the general direction of the bedroom.

"Patrick! You up? If not, we can fix that problem for you real quick."

The women laughed riotously at Lorelei's clever innuendo.

Jane met them in the doorway of the living room, wearing only his slacks, surveying the unwelcome visitors in disgust. He hazarded a look at Lisbon, but her thoughts were frustratingly blank.

 **A/N: Hopefully you didn't see that one coming, lol. Yep, another chapter, another cliffie. You know how much I love those. Hang on tightly to the edge, folks, waterbaby is up next!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I know you were expecting waterbaby for this chapter, but her life has been really busy lately and I offered to take on this one for her (since I have no real life, lol). Rest assured, she will be there to write the conclusion/epilogue. We appreciate your patience and understanding, and hope this chapter was worth the wait. PS: Be forewarned: the language is a little heavy in this chapter.**

 **Chapter 8**

Jane could feel as well as hear in her mind the waves of anger emanating from Lisbon. In her calm, cop-like manner, however, she placed the bottle of champagne, along with Jane's wallet on the kitchen counter, then walked purposefully toward the bedroom, gathering up her discarded dress from the floor before brushing past Jane and the drunken women with nary a glance.

"Teresa," said Jane.

He watched, his heart in his stomach, as she bent and picked up her scattered undergarments from the carpet at the foot of the bed.

"Can we play too?" asked Erica from the doorway.

Barely contained fury ripped through Jane, and he turned to the women of orgies past.

"Get the hell out!" he roared. Their eyes widened at his uncharacteristic shouting. They looked at each other, still frozen in place.

 _Geeze, Louise,_ thought Lorelei. _What's got into him?_

Frustrated to his core, he shoved them out of the doorway and slammed it in their shocked faces, locking the door between them and Lisbon.

 _Fool me once, shame on him,_ Lisbon was thinking angrily. _Fool me twice—no, shame on him for that too. Son of a bitch._

"Can't we talk about this?" he asked, hating the begging tone of his voice, but helpless to stop it. "I didn't invite them here, I swear."

His heart leapt as she took off his robe, then his t-shirt, and he had another glimpse of her beautiful body. But she was far from having thoughts of sex, as she efficiently pulled on her panties, then slipped the bra straps over her shoulders. Her hair curled enticingly around her bare skin and he wanted her so much that it was physically painful to look at her. Yet neither could he look away.

"It doesn't really matter, Jane," she said, her voice muffled as the red dress covered her head a moment. "I knew who you were before I got involved. I'm not really mad at you; I'm disappointed in myself, for thinking leopards could change their spots, or snakes could stop being snakes—choose whatever the hell metaphor you want." She struggled with the zipper on the back of her dress, but when he crossed the room to help her, she turned almost violently away from him.

"Don't touch me," she hissed. _If he touches me, I'll fall apart._

His hands instantly dropped. The very last thing in the world he wanted was to be the cause of Teresa Lisbon's tears. He watched her stride to the door, then stop, her hand on the doorknob.

"It's been fun," she said, looking over at him. "You should be proud of yourself. You've honed your prowess in the bedroom just as well as your skills as a fake psychic. I'd pay you for your performance, but there are laws against that sort of thing."

"Teresa," he protested feebly, but she had already opened the door. He could feel her slipping away from him, her mind bringing down the walls she'd only recently lifted. In the kitchen, there was the sound of a champagne cork popping, and the giggles of two drunk women as the bubbly beverage overflowed the bottle and spilled on his marble kitchen floor. He ignored them.

Just as she reached the foyer, the doorbell buzzed.

"Aw," she said with bitter irony, "that must be dinner." She glanced at Jane. "Unless you were expecting a blonde to round out the party?"

He could hear the thoughts of the delivery boy on the other side of the door, anticipating the big tip he usually got from delivering to this apartment.

Lisbon opened the door and gave the high school kid a big, dimpled smile. He blinked at the beautiful woman, barely noticing when she grabbed the box from his hands.

"Thanks, sweety." She nodded over her shoulder to Jane. "He'll take care of you."

And with that, she took her pizza and walked, head high and feet proudly barefoot, toward the elevator down the hall.

At the sight of her retreating figure, something finally moved in Jane, giving him the courage to move his legs. He couldn't let her go. Even though he didn't deserve her, even though she hated his guts right now. He couldn't bear going back to the life he'd had before her, and the very sound of that life laughing in the kitchen compelled him forward.

"Teresa, wait!" But she didn't turn around.

 _God, I can't believe I thought I loved this man._ Lisbon's thoughts slammed into him, and he gasped aloud.

"Hey, dude, you owe me twenty-one fifty," said the delivery boy, moving to stand in Jane's way. _And if someone stiffs me again, I'm toast._

"Shit! Just a minute. Teresa! Hold on!"

He went back into his apartment, found his wallet where Lisbon had left it, and pulled out a $100 bill. He practically threw it at the delivery boy. "Keep the change!" _Fuckin-A! I knew this was my lucky day,_ thought the teenager gleefully.

"Hey, Patrick. _I'd_ make you a pizza for less than that," called Lorelei from the kitchen. Erica grinned and said something crass about being a meat-lover.

Impatiently pushing all the intruding thoughts out of his head, Jane ran, shirtless and shoeless, to the elevator, but it had already gone down, and no amount of pounding on the call button would bring it back. He could run down the stairs, but she would be long gone by the time he went down fifteen flights.

He backed up and stared at the elevator, the perfect metaphor for his sinking heart.

"Your lady left ya, huh?" said the delivery boy as he joined Jane at the landing. "That sucks. But from where I'm standing, dude, you got two hot ones waiting in your apartment. Kinda a net gain, right? I'm a finance major."

Jane closed his eyes, his hands running over his face and up into his hair in frustration.

" _One_ of her is worth a million of them," he replied.

"Aw," said the boy wisely. "Been there, man."

Without another word, Jane turned from the elevator and walked despondently back to the open door of his apartment.

"Hey, thanks for the ginormous tip," called the teenager. "Have a nice night!"

He waved without turning around. Once back inside, instead of berating Erica and Lorelei again, he went back into his bedroom and shut and locked the door.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next day, Jane awoke to the smell of Lisbon on his pillows and a gut that roiled with disquiet. He listened, his eyes still closed, to the blessed silence from beyond his room. Lorelei and Erica were gone, as near as he could tell. They'd finally given up after pounding on the bedroom door and calling for him to come out, and he thought he'd heard the front door close sometime around three a.m.

His intense lovemaking with Lisbon the night before filled his mind, and he shuddered in remembered ecstasy. Something that rare couldn't be completely lost to him, he thought. She was understandably pissed off at his old lovers' reappearance, but the last thoughts she'd had, about possibly falling in love with him gave him a burgeoning feeling of hope.

He got out of bed, ready to take on the challenge. He'd go into the CBI and win her back with his charm and good looks, and, of course, play the shared intimacy card from last night. He shaved closely and combed his hair into the careless style she seemed to like best. He dressed with particular care, choosing a blue-green tie that exactly matched his eyes. The finishing touch would appeal directly to her memory: he slapped on the same cologne he'd worn yesterday. No ordinary woman could resist him, he thought as he adjusted his tie in the mirror; too bad Lisbon wasn't in the least bit ordinary. He frowned at himself at the thought, but there was nothing else he could do now but try his damnedest to win her back.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Outside Lisbon's office door, Jane took a deep breath, straining to listen to her thoughts to get a good gauge of her emotional state. She was trying in vain to focus on a report, but her mind kept drifting back to the night before, to the feel of Jane's hands and mouth on her body, but then the image of the interlopers would spoil it, and she would mentally pummel herself for ever falling for a conman.

He raised his hand to knock, when her desk phone rang, and he hesitated. Then he honed in on her thoughts once more.

 _Oh my God. Not again. That poor girl…_

He saw the image of Charlotte in her mind's eye, and he pushed open her door.

"What the hell is wrong with Charlotte?" He demanded. She was still on the phone, and was looking up at him in surprise. Then she frowned and held up a staying finger while she finished her conversation.

"Okay, we're on it. Let me know right away if you hear something."

She hung up.

"What are you doing here?" she asked in annoyance.

"Never mind that. What's going on with Charlotte?"

Lisbon sighed, and he heard the dread in her thoughts; definitely bad news.

"Charlotte's missing."

His eyes widened, and he felt his stomach turn over. "When?"

"They noticed she was gone an hour ago when she didn't come to breakfast."

"Are the Kincaids still in jail?"

"Yes, her uncle and mother are still being held without bond, waiting for trial, as far as I know."

"Check," he ordered. She immediately bristled at that.

"Jane, this is not your call, I—"

"Check. Please."

They stared at each other, the tension after last night mixing with their shared fear for Charlotte.

She picked up the phone.

Jane prowled around her office like a caged tiger, his nervous hands destroying the effect of his artfully imperfect hair. After two calls, Lisbon reported what he'd already heard in her mind: Charlotte's mother and uncle were still safely in their cells at the Sacramento County Jail.

"Thanks," said Jane simply, and he turned to leave her office.

"Wait. Where are you going?"

She had to jog to catch up with him at the elevator landing. "To Child Services to look for clues."

But it was more than that, he was thinking. He needed to find something of Charlotte's to touch so he could connect with her mind and find her, like he had before.

"Well, I'm going with you."

"Fine. But we're taking my car."

He heard her arguments in her head against this, about how reckless a driver he was, how he shouldn't drive when he was so upset, how they could use her CBI vehicle and turn on the emergency lights. But one look at his determined face, and she kept silent, and would let him do what he felt he needed to do. She comforted herself with the thought that she would at least be there with him.

"Okay," she said softly.

Jane knew in that moment that he loved her.

"Jesus," he muttered shakily to himself, just as the old elevator mercifully came quickly for once. He looked everywhere but at her.

"We'll find her," Lisbon said, misinterpreting his sudden paleness. She reached out a tentative hand to touch his.

Once the door slid closed on them, he pulled a startled Lisbon into his arms and captured her lips, desperately seeking an outlet for his love and his terror at the thought that he might have lost both her and Charlotte in one fell swoop. She debated briefly pulling away and punching him in the nose, but she was helpless under his passionate onslaught, and soon she wasn't thinking anything at all as his kiss deepened and he moaned into her mouth.

When the elevator dinged its arrival on the lobby floor, he reluctantly stepped away from her, his mind oddly calm now though his heart pounded with residual desire. Lisbon was understandably still shaken, her brain momentarily composed of incoherent mush. But she followed him out the front door and to his Porsche, which he opened with his key fob remote control. Still, he paused to open the passenger door for her before trotting around to the driver's side.

Just as she'd predicted, he drove like a madman, weaving in and out of traffic at breakneck speeds before taking to the freeway, where he completely disregarded all traffic laws.

"That—what happened in the elevator—doesn't change things," she told him, gripping the arm rests in abject fear.

"You're lying," he said easily, the ghost of a grin hovering over his lips as he maneuvered around a semi-truck. Lisbon bit her lip and hung on. "You still want me."

She didn't deny it, in her mind or verbally. "Like I said, it changes nothing. We don't belong together, Jane. We're too…different."

He hazarded a sidelong glance at her, taking his eyes off the road for a dangerous moment. " _Horse shit_ , like my dear old grandma used to say."

A surprised laugh escaped her. "Grandma must have been great fun at Christmas."

He grinned for the first time since Erika and Lorelei showed up at his door. "She was a tough old bird. Remind me to tell you about her sometime."

 _I'd like that_ , she thought, though the moment she did she remembered she was mad at him so she said nothing, and her shared smile melted away.

Jane's own smile turned into a grim line, and his grip tightened on the steering wheel. Their kiss in the elevator had told him more than her mental denials, but he had to focus on Charlotte now, so his complicated relationship with Lisbon would have to wait.

They made it to Child Services in record time, and Lisbon got out of the car without his help, though the way she wobbled a little on her sea legs and cussed at his reckless driving under her breath made him wonder how she managed.

Mrs. Van Orsdol was waiting for them at the door, her face a mask of restrained worry, her thoughts filled with genuine fear for Charlotte's safety.

"I'm so glad you are here. I didn't know if I should call the local police or not, since the CBI had already been involved in her case."

"Is anyone looking for her?" asked Jane.

"Miss Summers and the other eight staff members who work here are on foot and in cars looking around the immediate neighborhood."

"How do you lose a four-year-old little girl?" he asked angrily.

Mrs. Van Orsdol looked stricken. "Children are crafty, Mr. Jane. You would know if you were a parent, that no matter how diligent you are, sometimes they—"

But Jane wasn't interested in her excuses. "I need to see her bed," he demanded, brushing past the facility's matron without her permission.

"Oh, of course."

"For uh, clues," said Lisbon to Mrs. Van Orsdol, annoyed at his rudeness, but understanding completely as she followed him through the building down the hall to the children's sleeping quarters. He stopped at Charlotte's small cot, noticing right away that it had recently been slept in. He pressed a hand to the pillow, felt the coldness in the indentation where her blond head had rested. It made him feel a sickening cold inside at how long she must have been gone. Worse, he felt no connection with her.

Then he noticed a tuft of fuzzy brown fur peeping up from beneath the disorderly covers. He reached down and picked up Sam the Teddy bear. Immediately, as with her pink sweatshirt days before, he felt Charlotte's presence as if she were right next to him. He could see what she could as if he were looking through her eyes. What he saw was a pond, white ducks swimming nearby, chunks of white bread falling into the water before being snatched up by the waiting birds.

He closed his eyes and reached out to her.

 _Charlotte?_

 _Patrick?_ came her voice clear as day in his mind.

 _Where the hell are you?_

 _It's not nice to say_ _ **hell.**_

 _I'm not saying it, I'm_ _ **thinking**_ _it. And I'll think a whole lot worse if you don't tell me where you are right now, young lady!_

 _I'm feeding the ducks._

 _I can see that. How did you get there?_

 _I walked. Last night I saw the water from the Ferris wheel when we were way at the top. I saw the ducks and thought they might be hungry, so I took some bread from the kitchen. Daddy always takes me to feed the ducks at the park._

Jane thought back to their night at the carnival, remembering how he had been riding with Lisbon in their seat while Charlotte had sat with Miss Summers in the carriage above them. Jane hadn't noticed any nearby duck ponds, but then, he'd only had eyes for Lisbon. This pond could be in any direction, he realized. He needed more details.

 _Look around you so I can see where you are,_ he instructed, and was treated to her sight of trees hanging low into the water. She looked down, and he felt his stomach clench when he saw her bare feet through the shallow water near the shore. He had no idea how deep the center of the pond might be, and the paddling, quacking ducks were blocking his view. She looked up and around, and he saw a high fence in the near distance, an open gate, along with other landscaping and the top of a house with terra cotta shingles.

 _Charlotte, get out of the water, right now._

But she was laughing now at the ducks' antics, how they fought for each morsel she threw to them. Jane opened his eyes and looked at Lisbon, whose brow was furrowed in concern as she had watched the array of emotions on his face while he'd mentally communicated with Charlotte.

"She's at a duck pond nearby," he said. "Near a house with a high wooden fence and terra cotta shingles."

"What? How do you-?"

But Jane didn't have time for explanations. He fled the sleeping quarters to find Mrs. Van Orsdol to ask what she knew about a nearby duck pond.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane set out at a dead run, still clutching the bear, across the empty field redolent of the ruts of last night's carnival equipment, then he climbed a chain-link fence into someone's back yard. Unfortunately, Mrs. Van Orsdol had no idea about a pond, so he was flying blind. Charlotte wasn't even communicating with him anymore, and he feared the worst.

Lisbon easily kept up with him, at the same time talking into her phone, calling Cho and Rigsby for backup, just in case. It gave him an odd sense of satisfaction that she didn't even doubt him anymore, that she'd blindly followed what to others might have sounded like the rantings of a madman who communed with Teddy bears.

Jane paused in the middle of someone's backyard, scanning the rooftops for the telltale orange of terracotta, for a tall redwood fence, keeping in mind what Charlotte might have seen from the top of a Ferris wheel at night. The pond would have had to be well-lit to be seen. To get a better idea of where to turn next, he closed his eyes and focused on the Teddy bear and on Charlotte.

There was nothing. _Charlotte?_ He inquired in his mind.

She didn't answer.

He took a few deep breaths, thinking that perhaps his racing heart might have something to do with his inability to focus. _Charlotte?_

No reply. And everything from her direction was blank.

"Charlotte!" he called aloud.

Jane's eyes flew open and Lisbon was there, touching his arm and looking up at him with concerned green eyes.

"I can't see her," he said in despair. "She was standing in the water, and now…nothing. Oh, God, what if she's—"

But he couldn't finish the thought, and he suddenly bolted out of the yard, just as the homeowners came out to ask why they were trespassing. Lisbon held up her badge and continued after Jane, who had gone over the fence to the neighbors'. But suddenly, he knew Lisbon was no longer behind him, and he heard her mental conversation, which he assumed she was also saying out loud.

"Teresa Lisbon, CBI. Ma'am, you wouldn't happen to know where there's a small duck pond around here, would you? It'd be surrounded by a high red fence."

To be sure he heard the answer, he climbed back over the fence, in time for the middle-aged matron to reply: "Well, sure. Three houses over, the Perry's have one. Built it for the grandkids. Lots of ducks in it too. Dirty, nasty things…"

Jane saw the woman was pointing in the direction opposite of where he'd been headed.

"Do you know the address?" Lisbon was asking, in her calm, friendly manner.

"Well, let's see, I'm 903, so they must be…8 something…"

But Jane didn't wait to hear Lisbon's reply. He climbed over the other neighbors' fences.

The terracotta roof of the Perry's home was partially concealed from the side by a large eucalyptus tree and a few tall pines, but Jane knew this was it in his marrow, and there was the redwood fence to prove it. Jane walked quickly around the privacy fence until he found the gate, still open a bit as Charlotte had left it. He heard a cacophony of quacking long before he saw the water.

The birds were congregating at the far end of the twenty-foot wide pond, and he saw an empty bread wrapper being mauled by the hungry creatures in search of crumbs, but there was no sign of Charlotte, no sweet thoughts of a little girl echoing in his brain.

"Charlotte!" he called frantically.

And then, beneath the low hanging trees that soaked their limbs in the water, he felt a violent jerk in his heart. A little girl's long hair floated on the surface, spread out like a swimming mermaid. But she was not swimming. She's wasn't moving at all, but bobbed in the water face down.

"Charlotte!" This time, he screamed her name.

He shucked off his suit jacket and dropped it and the bear to the ground as he ran around the pond, walking straight in. His shoes slipped on the muddy bottom, filling with water that also hindered his progress. The pond must have been at least five feet deep, and he swam like a madman to reach her, his soaked clothes frustratingly heavy now.

"Lisbon!" he yelled when he made it to the girl. "Lisbon!"

He lifted Charlotte's small body up, his heart breaking at how lifeless she was. He felt for a pulse, but it and her thoughts were terrifyingly quiet. He had to get her to shore.

Then, Lisbon was there, her own frantic thoughts suffusing his mind, even over the sounds of the ducks and their splashing, over the pounding of his heart and the jagged sound of his own unsteady breaths.

She went farther around and found her way underneath the low trees, then waded in up to her knees to meet them.

"Come up this way; it's closer," she called. "But be careful, it's slippery."

 _That's probably how Charlotte fell in here,_ Lisbon was thinking.

"Okay," said Jane, moving as fast as he could. He put Charlotte's little body over his shoulder, hoping maybe this would start the process of getting the water out of her lungs. Lisbon held out her arms to take the girl, then rushed up to the land, slipping a little on the mud before laying her on the damp ground. She immediately began CPR. Jane tried to comfort himself with the thought that it had been less than five minutes since he'd set out from the Child Services building, and he heard himself begging an unnamed benefactor to save the little girl, or to take him instead.

Jane was nearly to the shore himself, when his shoes slipped on the mud and he fell backwards into the drink. In his haste to rise up and get to Charlotte, he whacked his head on a thick low limb, so hard that he saw stars. Then, all the stars faded away…

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He awoke in the ambulance, groggy, his head aching, uncomfortably damp in his sodden clothes. His first thought was of Charlotte.

"Where is she?" he exclaimed, trying to sit up, ripping off the oxygen mask from his mouth and nose. The EMT pushed him gently but firmly back down on the collapsed gurney. "The little girl. Is she okay?"

"Hey, easy there, buddy. Last I heard they got her breathing. That CBI agent saved her life. They're both in another ambulance. We're all on our way to Sacramento Memorial."

"Look, I'm fine. I just—" Then it dawned on him. He couldn't hear the EMT's thoughts. He paused and directed his attention to the driver. Nothing was coming from his mind either.

"That's weird," he muttered under his breath.

"What? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. My head just hurts like a sonofabitch. Charlotte's going to be all right though?"

"We don't know, sir. She was in the water a while." Jane could tell without reading his mind that the man was being especially careful with his words. "You need to relax." The EMT pulled Jane's mask back into place, urging him to lay still.

He rode the rest of the way to the hospital in silence, though his mind raced with impatience.

Cho and Rigsby met him as he was wheeled into the Emergency Room. He couldn't hear their thoughts anymore either, but the concern on their faces said it all.

"Where's Charlotte?" he asked them.

"They took her back somewhere about five minutes ago," said Rigsby, pointing beyond the ER reception desk. "Lisbon's with them; she had us meet you here."

The gurney came to a halt in a curtain partitioned room, and Jane attempted to sit up again, tossing his oxygen mask on the floor. An ER doctor appeared, pushing him down once more.

"Mr. Jane, I presume? I'm Dr. Harris. You need to lie still."

"Yeah yeah. What's going on with the little girl they just brought in?"

"Another doctor is seeing to her. I understand you hit your head pretty hard." She was shining a light into his eyes, then began feeling around his skull.

"That's the thing," said Jane, "I hit hard, but I didn't think it was hard enough to knock me out."

"He had a concussion several days ago," said Cho helpfully.

"Aw," she said. "Were you knocked out then too?"

"Yeah. But they couldn't find anything else wrong with me. Look, I'm fine. Let me up so I can find Agent Lisbon."

He of course didn't mention that his last bout with unconsciousness had triggered psychic abilities, and now they were gone. Something told him if he said that, they'd send him for a pysch evaluation too.

"She knows you're here, I'm sure," said Dr. Harris. "From what I hear, she saved the little girl, and dragged you out of the pond and saved you too. She's quite the hero."

"Yes," he agreed. "She's the best person I know."

Rigsby and Cho looked at each other knowingly. Were his feelings so obvious?

 _Dammit, it was so much more helpful when I could read their minds._

"Well you need to stay put. I'm ordering a CT scan, just to be on the safe side. I'm sure your friends here can find out what you need to know and keep you updated. Meantime, get out of these wet clothes, rest, and someone will take you for that scan as soon as possible." She tossed a hospital gown in his lap.

"Thanks," said Jane, though he wasn't feeling particularly thankful. He just wanted to see Lisbon again, to know what was going on with Charlotte. Would she have brain damage from being deprived of oxygen so long? He closed his eyes, and the image of the little girl, lying face down in the water, her golden hair undulating around her, made him feel sick at the stomach. Cho must have noticed his sudden green complexion, for he handed Jane a bedpan from a nearby counter. Jane fully utilized it.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

The CT scan showed no damage, though it was ruled he had another concussion, and was ordered to rest for at least three days. He was in a private room in his hospital gown when Lisbon finally arrived.

His face lit up at the sight of her, but her grim expression made him fear the worst. It was more of a shock not to hear _her_ thoughts, and he swallowed, despising the silence.

"How are you?" she asked him.

Her blouse had splatters of mud, and her knees were stained with it where she'd knelt to tend to Charlotte. Her jeans were still damp where she'd waded into the water. Her hair was coming out of the neat bun she'd been wearing earlier, and she looked as tired and bedraggled as he felt. A wave of love and longing washed over him, and it almost hurt to feel such unfamiliar emotions so strongly all at once.

"I'm fine," he said absently. "How's Charlotte?"

"In a coma," she announced.

To his horror, he felt tears sting his eyes. "Jesus."

She rushed to his side and took his hand. "She's alive because of you," she said, reaching out with her other hand to brush back his hair, to caress his smooth cheek. "I don't know how you knew where to find her, but I will never doubt your abilities again. They're a God-given gift; I see that now."

He squeezed her hand, looking into deep green eyes so filled with admiration and concern that he felt sick again.

"I can't do it anymore, Teresa. I—I…something happened to me when I hit my head again. Those abilities are just… _gone_ , and I doubt that they'll ever come back. I probably don't even deserve for them to come back. If there really is a God, He is punishing me by giving me a glimpse of Paradise, then tearing it from my hands just when I was starting to appreciate it."

As he stared up at her, he realized he'd meant more than his psychic abilities. Paradise had been in her arms last night, and now he was banished from that too.

She looked startled at his vehemence, at the lost little boy she was glimpsing in his eyes. "Wait—you really believed you were psychic?"

"I was, Teresa," he said seriously. "I could hear everyone's thoughts around me, especially yours. Charlotte could too. We communed over great distances—that's how I found her both times. But now—I can't see anything anymore. I can't _hear_ anything. Nothing of what people are thinking, I mean. It's very…disconcerting."

 _Not to mention disappointing._

What he wouldn't give to hear what she was thinking right now.

"You were knocked out after experiencing a very stressful situation. Give it time. Maybe it'll come back."

He shook his head. "I don't think so."

She was silent, and she didn't argue with him, but he felt a flutter as she continued to hold his hand. She sat on the bed with him, and to his immense surprise, leaned down and pressed her lips sweetly to his. But before he could pull her closer, she sat up again.

"Get some rest," she said. "I'm going to check on Charlotte, then go home and change. I'll bring you some clothes, okay?"

He grinned, just from the pleasure of being close to her again.

"What? You don't like my Hospital Chic?"

She smiled. "Pink does suit you. It matches your eyes."

He chuckled. "Thanks, Lisbon. Oh, and…thanks for saving my life."

A hint of rose suffused her cheeks. "I'm just glad you're okay—psychic powers or not."

The lump in his throat allowed him only an answering nod. Then she was gone, and it was like the light had left the room.

"I am so fucked," he murmured, and the sentiment covered a multitude of things.

 **A/N: Waterbaby's set to finish our story with the next chapter. Thanks as always for reading; we are grateful for your reviews as well as your support.**


	9. Conclusion

A/N: Thanks for your patience and understanding while waiting for this chapter. I am eternally thankful for my amazing partner Donnamour1969 who is always willing to help me pick up my slack, as she did to brilliant effect in the last chapter.

Please enjoy this final instalment of "What Lisbon Wants."

 **Chapter 9: Conclusion**

The next morning, Jane was released from the hospital (the doctors were being extra careful as this was his second head injury in a matter of weeks.) He'd lain awake for hours thinking about Lisbon, about Charlotte, about his fantastic powers gained and lost, and thinking about how his life had managed to get so complicated, so quickly.

Without the constant buzzing of people's thoughts in his mind, he felt strangely lonely, even with the usual bustling of a busy hospital going on around him. The only two people who truly meant something to him were currently out of his reach. He honestly had no idea where he stood with Lisbon at the moment, and as for Charlotte, dear Charlotte, he couldn't even bear to think about what could happen.

It was on the matter of Charlotte that he most missed his psychic powers, as he quizzed every nurse that came into his room about her condition, but received only vague brush-offs and a repeated refrain that he should try to get some rest. Rest, indeed. How was he supposed to rest? Had he still possessed that strange ability, he'd have all the information he needed.

He signed the release forms, scrambled into the clothes Lisbon had brought him last night, and waited impatiently at the foot of the bed for her. Upon hearing of his impending release she'd insisted on driving back to collect him herself, which he'd readily agreed to for the added bonus of seeing her again. He'd missed her last night. After his second near-death experience, her company would have been welcome, even if she just wanted to tell him off.

She arrived about twenty minutes later, dressed in fresh clothes, hair washed, and smiling, but there was still weariness about her from the previous night's events. He shuddered to think about what might have happened if she hadn't been there. She had a knack for that, being in the right place at the right time. She always had his back, even when he didn't deserve it. She was a woman in a million.

"How's Charlotte?" he demanded to know, the moment she entered the room. She sighed sympathetically.

"Still unconscious. The doctors don't really know if she'll wake up."

" _When_ ," he corrected firmly. "She's going to wake up."

He didn't need to be psychic to know what she was thinking at that moment. She cast him a look of combined sympathy and concern, clearly worrying about how he might react if the worst should happen.

"The hospital has been searching for a next-of-kin. But seeing as her entire immediate family is either in jail or dead, they're not having much luck."

Not for the first time, Patrick Jane cursed the fact that so much hardship should fall on a girl so young. Surely there had to be someone who could help her. He'd be damned if he let her grow up in that awful Social Services building, under the care of the imbecile who'd allowed her to slip away and nearly get herself killed.

"It's not fair," he said aloud. "She doesn't deserve all this crap happening to her."

"I know." Lisbon reached out and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. Her touch was soothing, especially as she began to run her thumb back and forth, leaving warmth in its wake. "But Charlotte's a tough kid. Everything she's been through proves that. And Jane, I don't think you fully understand just how good you've been for her. Every time she sees you, that girl lights up like a Christmas tree."

She squeezed his shoulder once, and then let it go. "You've been there for her every step of the way," she said. "You've been the one constant in this whole terrible situation. She needed that. Take it from someone who knows."

It was then he remembered that Lisbon had been in a similar situation as Charlotte, back when she was young. She'd probably know better than anyone; so if she told him he had helped, he'd believe her.

Despite his annoyance at being hospitalized again, he was reluctant to leave, lest Charlotte should wake and find herself alone in this strange place. Lisbon, however, seemingly with psychic powers of her own, appeared to have foreseen this and had already instructed the staff to update them immediately on any developments concerning Charlotte. Even so, he insisted on visiting the little girl's hospital room before they left, and caught his breath, and felt a lump come to his throat at the sight of the small, sweet child lying utterly still, surrounded by machines.

He felt Lisbon slip her hand into his.

"I know," she said. "I was the same the first time I saw it. It's a lot to take in."

He wanted to wrap his arms around her, pull her close, but he was no longer allowed to do that. They were allies only as far as Charlotte was concerned. Other than that, thanks to his own stupidity (and a little help from Lorelei and Erica, the Whores of Sacramento) he had no right to intrude upon her life any further. He'd already caused her enough pain.

"I didn't want anything to happen to her," he said.

"I know."

She was looking at him with those soft eyes again, and he would've given anything to be able to know what she was thinking. Was it simply concern for Charlotte or was there something else too? He realised now that he had come to rely almost fully on thoughts in order to read people. Devoid of his secret weapon, it was now time to get back to reading facial cues and expressions. He couldn't be seen to be losing his touch, after all.

Charlotte remained in a coma for the following two days. Jane, while not being able to bear being in the same room as her unconscious form, was also unable to settle to anything else either, despite the distraction of a new case. He was the first to admit that he hadn't handled the situation well. He'd been unfocused, agitated, and combative with everyone to the victim's family, to the suspect, to the team. Cho and Rigsby had become quite thoroughly annoyed with him only a few hours into the first day, and by the end of the second, even Lisbon's legendary patience was beginning to wear thin. He could see it in her eyes sometimes, that internal battle over whether she ought to comfort him or throw something heavy at him.

He'd been banished to the couch in the bullpen after informing the suspect's wife (none too gently) that he'd been cheating on her and being decidedly unsympathetic, as she'd burst into tears. But as he'd told Lisbon during the ensuing argument, he wasn't here to mollycoddle murderer's wives. What was it to him if they had abysmal taste in men?

Lisbon had looked as though she would really have liked to retort at that point, and he wished that she would, but gone were the days when she let her guard down around him and allowed her emotions to be clear. She ordered him to the couch, and he lay there fuming at the world and everyone in it.

Perhaps his state of almost constant anger had exhausted him, because he eventually fell asleep there. He woke to Lisbon gently shaking him, and the annoyance came flooding back. She'd sent him here for Christ's sake, what could he possibly have done to piss her off now? He opened his mouth to let her have it, when she said the only two words that could have stopped him.

"Charlotte's awake."

Lisbon needed to stay behind and finish up the paperwork for the case before leaving for the hospital, but Jane refused to wait a single second longer, and was off the couch and running for the elevator before she could get another word in. The fact that he didn't run into any police on the way to the hospital was a miracle as he drove like a maniac, and found himself bursting into her room only twenty minutes later.

"Patrick!"

The little girl had jumped at his sudden entrance but was smiling eagerly at him. She seemed a little paler than usual, and her voice slightly hoarse from the tubes, but she was alive.

"You scared me," he said, in a tone half-accusing, half-relieved, and so parent-like it surprised him. "Don't ever do something like that again."

Her face fell. "Are you mad at me?"

Immediately, he felt guilty at upsetting her, and it was only the excess of wires still attached to her that stopped him from embracing her.

"Of course not," he said. "But I was very scared. It was just lucky I knew where to find you."

"I knew you would."

"I wasn't so sure there, for a while."

"Patrick?" The little girl's hand closed over his, and it calmed him to feel her pulse, strong and steady. "I couldn't hear you coming just now." She tapped the side of her head. "I think it's gone."

"Mine too," he confessed, and oh, how good it felt to tell this to somebody who truly understood. Lisbon had probably put it down to the ramblings of a concussed man the other day.

"That's sad," she said, quietly. "I liked it."

"Me too."

"I liked talking to you the best."

He smiled warmly. "Me too."

It was the truth. But listening in to the fascinating mind of Teresa Lisbon had come in a very, _very_ close second.

"Why do you think it went away?" she asked, innocently.

He supposed the deprivation of oxygen while she'd been underwater _had_ caused a little brain damage, but it had simply robbed her of the extraordinary ability. It wasn't wholly a bad thing. Charlotte was not yet old enough to know how to handle such an ability. Inevitably, she would slip up somewhere and then find herself either institutionalised, or at the mercy of some money-hungry opportunist, exploiting her gifts. She'd be better off growing up as a normal kid; even without telepathy she'd be the smartest kid in the bunch.

"I guess it didn't think we needed it anymore," he said instead, and she seemed to accept that answer.

The door clicked open, and a young woman with golden hair to rival Charlotte's stepped into the room, clutching a cup of coffee and a donut.

"Aunt Chrissy!" Charlotte cried, and then homed in on the donut. "Is that for me?"

The woman chuckled. "No, it's for me," she replied in a strong Australian accent. "I've eaten nothing but plane food for the last 17 hours, but if the doctors say it's OK, I'll let you have a bit."

"Yay!" said Charlotte eagerly, reaching for the pastry.

"In a minute sweetheart, once your doctor comes by. She said she'd be along around now." The woman placed the coffee and pastry on the bedside table and her eyes fell on Jane. "And who's this?" she asked.

Jane watched her eyes make the familiar journey from his head to his feet and back again. She smiled appreciatively at him when she'd finished, and Jane found himself trying to recall if Lisbon had done the same thing when they'd first met. Vanity aside, most women tended to do it, but he couldn't remember it; quite possibly because he'd been too busy checking _her_ out to notice. That was a shame.

"This is Patrick," said Charlotte, enthusiastically. "He's my friend."

"So you're the one who found her, eh?" she asked. "Well I suppose thanks are in order." She extended a hand. "Christine Kincaid."

"Patrick Jane."

She lowered her voice so Charlotte, who had just discovered the TV remote, wouldn't hear. "Thank you for saving my niece. What with my brother dead at the hands of our other brother and his wife I don't think I could have coped with any more tragedies."

"I didn't do it alone," he said, thinking of Lisbon, who had not only saved Charlotte, but him as well.

"Well, whatever fleet of people assisted you, make sure you pass on my gratitude to them all."

"I will. I assume you're Charlotte's next of kin?"

"Yup," the young woman agreed. "Well technically Jasper was first in line, but with circumstances being what they are…" she trailed off into an angry silence. "He better hope he never gets out of jail. Anyway, I've come to take Charlotte home with me."

The accent and the mention of the long flight had given Jane a good indication of where 'home' was but his heart still sank when she confirmed it. "My boyfriend and I have got a place in Sydney, near the beach. She'll like it there."

Australia. His little friend couldn't be going any further away than that. The truth sunk in. Once she left, he'd most likely never see her again.

"I just think the further I get her away from here, the better," Christine went on. "But the thing is, I haven't exactly told her yet. Would you mind giving us a minute?"

"Of course."

He shut the door behind him as he walked back into the hall. There was an array of plastic chairs against the wall, and he collapsed into one.

"How is she?" Lisbon's soft voice rang out from beside him, and he didn't think he'd ever heard a more welcome sound.

"She's okay," he said. "Her aunt's here."

"That's great! She'll be out of social services at last."

"She's taking her to Australia," he continued, flatly.

"Oh." A pause. "I'm sorry, Jane."

"It's the best thing for her," he said. "She'll be with family, and she'll be safe."

Lisbon wound an arm around his shoulders. "I'm still sorry," she said.

"Thanks." He chanced leaning his head on her shoulder, and took heart when she didn't shrug it off. "Thanks for everything."

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

A week later, Charlotte was released from the hospital. Jane had been visiting her every day, showing her more magic tricks (now made easier because she couldn't riffle through his mind and find out how she did it) and listening to her chatter on about her new life in "Straya" (Christine had been attempting to teach her the correct pronunciation with limited success.) He was glad she was excited about going to live with her aunt, but wasn't entirely sure if she realized that going away meant they wouldn't be seeing each other anymore. Of course, knowing Charlotte and her cleverness, she might well know exactly what was happening, and he was just turning into a sentimental fool, just like he'd always feared.

He'd seen little of Lisbon the past week; she'd been busy with work, and he'd wanted to spend as much time with Charlotte as possible before she left, but he'd missed her. He'd missed their little sparring matches, their banter; he'd especially missed her kisses. He hoped that the time apart had cooled her anger enough that they might be able to be friends again, at the very least. And if that weren't enough for him anymore, he would just have to find a way to deal with it. He would not screw her around anymore. He at least owed her that much.

Christine went to arrange the discharge paperwork, leaving Jane and Charlotte alone. Charlotte's aunt had gotten used to his presence over the past week, and had never questioned it, but he could see the curiosity in her eyes, and figured she'd suspected there was more to their relationship than just pulling her from a lake.

Charlotte, free of the hospital gown at last, was sitting on the edge of the bed, swinging her legs back and forth.

"I'm going on an airplane!" she announced, happily. "I've never been on one before."

"That's pretty exciting," he agreed. "And when you get off you're going to be in a whole new place, and it's going to be summertime."

"Really?" He smiled as her little mind tried to reconcile the fact that it could be winter in one place, and summer in another. "Will Aunt Chrissy take me to the beach?"

"I bet she will." He had a feeling 'Aunt Chrissy' would be spoiling the girl rotten for the foreseeable future. He was glad. If there was any kid that deserved it, it was Charlotte.

"Will mummy and daddy come too?" the girl asked. "How long does a business trip take anyway?"

Jane winced. So far, everybody had been very careful about what they said around Charlotte as far as her parents were concerned. It was hardly his place to tell her what had happened, that lot fell to Christine, but still he didn't like the idea of her not knowing. It looked likely that Mrs Kincaid and Jasper would be under the care of the state of California for a good few years to come, by the time they were released, Charlotte would be nearing adulthood.

"Your mum and dad won't be coming with you," he said, heavily, and her little face fell.

"Why? I miss them. Don't they miss me?"

"I'm sure they do. But your aunt will explain it all to you when you get there," he said.

"Can't you do it? You're coming, aren't you?"

Another sticky moment. He began willing Christine to hurry up and get the paperwork done so she could end this awkward conversation.

"I have to stay here," he said. "This is where my house is."

"I'm getting a new house. Can't you get one too?"

He almost laughed at the logic of a four-year-old. If only life were that simple. He searched for a way to explain as gently as he could.

"I kind of like the one I've got," he said. "And this is where my job is."

"And Miss Teresa?" put in Charlotte. "You like her too."

"I do," he agreed.

"You would miss her if you went away?"

"I would."

"Are you going to miss me?" The question was laced with sudden panic, as though Jane was going to forget her the moment the door closed behind her.

He chuckled and sat next to her on the bed. She scooted across until she was nestled against him, and he felt his hand automatically begin to stroke her hair. "Of course I am, kid," he said. "More than you could possibly know."

Jane walked alongside Charlotte and Christine out to the front of the hospital where a cab was waiting for them. Despite his bets efforts to seem cheerful, clever little Charlotte picked up on his sombre mood, which seemed to finally bring home to her that this goodbye meant forever. She burst into tears, flung herself at him and clung to him as her aunt tried to gently persuade her to let him go and get into the cab.

After a minute or two of this, and a few sighs of impatience from Christine, Jane gently prised Charlotte's arms from around his legs, and crouched down so he was at her level. She took the opportunity to bury her head in his shoulder and cry some more.

"Charlotte, you are the bravest kid I have ever met," he said, gently. "You're going to be just fine. Your aunt is going to take good care of you, and you're going to have lots of fun in Australia. Did you know they have lots of cool animals there that you can't find anywhere else in the world? You like animals, don't you?"

She nodded against his shoulder.

"You'll make new friends, and soon you'll get to go to school and become even smarter than you are now. And your aunt is going to make sure that you're never on your own again."

"That's right," said Christine. She reached tentatively for Charlotte. "Come on honey, we've got a plane to catch. Say goodbye to Patrick."

"I don't want to," the little girl said.

"Neither do I," he confessed. "But we've got to."

She clung to him tighter. "Bye Patrick," she managed to say, between sobs.

"Goodbye Charlotte," Jane whispered gently. "Go on now, your aunt is waiting. It's okay. Go on. Be brave for me one more time."

Charlotte gave a great sniffle, squeezed him once more, and then finally allowed her aunt to lead her away and into the taxi. Jane concentrated on not letting any of his own tears escape as Christine got Charlotte settled in the back of the cab; if she saw he was upset, they'd be back to square one.

Christine shut the door behind them and extended a hand to Jane.

"Mr Jane, I want to thank you for being there for my niece during all of this. We won't forget it. If you're ever in Sydney, look us up."

"Will do. Have a safe flight."

He avoided looking at Charlotte as Christine put her arm around her and the taxi pulled away from the curb.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Long after the taxi had disappeared, Jane finally found his way back to his car and drove in a daze. It was only when he saw the signs for the CBI entrance that he realised where he was going. Abruptly, and to the chagrin of other drivers, he pulled a highly illegal manoeuvre and drove the opposite way back to his apartment.

Much as he desired Lisbon's company at this moment, he was determined not to seek her out. Yes, he was in love with her. Yes, he wanted to see her more than anything, but he had finally come to realise that he was no good for her, and her welfare was more important than his own. Besides, he was hardly in a state to be good company at the current time.

He got home, turned on the TV, poured a drink. Poured another. And another. But it wasn't making him feel any better. This was normally about the time he'd go and pick up a girl, but he was a changed man now. No more trawling the bars and pubs for easy prey; there was only one woman whom he was interested in now.

He badly wanted to see her, talk to her, and commiserate with her about the loss of Charlotte. It was rather alarming how quickly his little urchin had wormed her way into his heart. He hadn't been lying before; he was going to miss her terribly. In fact, he'd found he'd related better to her than some adults in his life, especially over the psychic thing.

They'd probably be in the air by now, winging their way towards the land down under. Christine had provided him with some contact details before they'd left, so they could keep in touch, but he was determined not to use them yet; Charlotte needed time to adjust to the move, and to life without her parents; the last thing she needed was a blast from the past to remind of this dark time in her young life.

He ambled into the kitchen with the idea of fixing himself a slice of toast and a cup of tea, after which he was seriously considering diving into bed and sulking for the rest of the day; however, this appealing notion was interrupted by a sudden knock on the door.

He shuffled unenthusiastically toward it, expecting it to be yet another package that had been meant for his neighbour, (he swore she addressed them wrong on purpose so he'd have to bring them over himself) but when he opened it, was pleasantly surprised to find Lisbon leaning against the doorframe.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, genuinely thrown, but pleased too. She smiled at his confusion.

"Don't tell me I actually managed to catch the great Patrick Jane off his guard," she laughed.

"Indeed you did," he said, not seeing the point in lying.

"I just thought I'd come by and check on you," she said quietly, as the jovial mood dissipated. "I know Charlotte left today."

He pushed the door wider. "Come on in."

She followed him into the living room and he got her a glass of cold water from the kitchen. She settled herself comfortably on his expensive leather couch, and he took a moment to appreciate how much at home she looked in his apartment. He could get used to this.

"How are you doing?" she asked. "Really."

"I'm fine."

She raised an eyebrow. "Jane."

"I know it's the best thing for her, and I know it was what she needed, but I'm going to miss her. And I kind of feel like I want to go and get her back." He sighed. "I know that's stupid, and that I couldn't have looked after her properly, but I still can't help but feel I should have done more for her, you know?"

Lisbon smiled warmly. "You did all you could Jane, and you know what I think?" she asked. "I think this is hitting you so hard because you loved that little girl more than you've loved anyone in your entire life. It's nice." She paused briefly. "You'll make someone a great father someday."

"You think so?

"I know so."

"Well that makes one of us."

She sighed. "So you weren't ready now. That's nothing to be ashamed of. I'm not either."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that." Someone as naturally caring as Lisbon would find a way to be an amazing mother even if she were living in a cardboard box. She had the nurturing thing down to a fine art.

"Thank you." She took another sip of her water. "I'm actually not just here because of Charlotte though," she confessed. "Minelli wants to offer you a permanent job."

"What?"

"He figures it would be to our mutual benefit to have you on board full-time. Your involvement in our cases gets them closed faster than we ever have before," she said. "And the good press helps us as much as it helps you."

"And this was all Minelli's idea?" he asked, shrewdly, and noticed the way she averted her eyes from his, telling him that she'd had more to do with the forming of this plan than she was letting on.

"You said you wanted out of the psychic game," she said. "This is a way for you to do it. And besides," she paused, as though debating whether to say the next part or not, "I kind of like your being around."

She was flushing with embarrassment, clearly fearing that she had said too much, but he felt his heart give a great leap. Hope like he hadn't felt since the Erica and Lorelei incident flowed through him and he had to work hard to keep from grinning widely.

"Well, that's lucky," he said. "Because I kind of like being around _you_. A _lot_."

Her eyes widened with shock, and she hastily put her glass of water down on the small end table.

"Jane…"

He reached for her hand, feeling her pulse thrumming quickly underneath his fingertips. He'd said he wouldn't push her anymore, but then again, Patrick Jane wasn't one to not take a chance when it presented itself.

"Teresa, these past few weeks have been some of the greatest ones of my life," he said. "Partly because of Charlotte, but also, because of _you_."

"Jane, please…"

"Here's the thing," he went on in a rush, before he lost his nerve. "I'm in love with you. And I want to be with you, and no one else. What are your thoughts on that?"

He could have detailed the many things about her that he loved, but when it came to things as important as this, he preferred to get straight to the point. Besides, once he'd gotten on a roll, they might be here all night, and he was kind of impatient to know what she was thinking.

Never in his life had he wished for psychic powers more than this moment. He could see her brain ticking over, taking it all in. He searched her expression for clues and found nothing conclusive, everything from utter shock, to a quiet flattery. It felt like an hour before she spoke again.

"This is just like you, Jane," she said. "It's so typical of you to drop this on me out of nowhere; you can be a real bastard sometimes, you know?"

He chuckled. "So I've been told."

She sighed. "I love you too," she said, with an air of admitting something very unpleasant. "Despite my best efforts not to, I do love you." She lifted her eyes to finally meet his. "Of course I do. You never really gave me a chance not to."

"I had you at 'hello,' did I?" he quipped, hoping to lighten the mood, and was relived to see a little smile appear on her face.

"You wish. I'm not that easy."

"So when was it then?" he asked, genuinely curious at to when her attitude had changed.

"You're the psychic. You tell me."

He grinned devilishly. "You know I get a better read on things through touch," he said, his voice low, and he was pleased to see her shiver. "Come here."

 **THE END**

 **A/N: And so concludes another run around the Mentalist arena for Donnamour1969 and myself. If you liked this one, you might like to check out our other collaborative efforts "Scarlet Woman" "Teresa" and "Red Roulette" (in her profile) and "Eyes Like The Sea" (in mine.) In any case, thank you for reading, and happy holidays to all.**

 **Donna here. I second all waterbaby said above! As always, it has been a pleasure to work with her. Thanks to you readers for the wonderful reviews. Stay tuned for a new fic from me, with sort of a Christmas theme, coming soon. Merry Christmas!**


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